


heart as black as night

by thepsychicclam



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 1920s, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Mob, Bootlegger!Derek, Comeplay, Hurt/Comfort, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Panic Attacks, Rimming, Scent Marking, Speakeasies, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2017-12-24 10:45:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 97,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/939054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepsychicclam/pseuds/thepsychicclam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 1924, and Derek Hale is a bootlegger and runs one of the many speakeasies in New York with the help of his Pack. They don't know, however, that he's also a hitman for his Uncle Peter, a shady Omega with mafia ties to whom Derek owes a huge debt.</p><p>Stiles Stilinski is about to graduate from high school and start working at the docks when he stumbles into the Sour Wolf, a speakeasy with lively music, a glamorous jazz singer, and a certain dark, handsome, and moody bartender that Stiles can't stop thinking about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _I don't know why you came along at such a perfect time_  
>  _But if I let you hang around I'm bound to lose my mind_  
>  _Cause your hands may be strong but the feeling's all wrong_  
>  _Your heart is as black as night_  
>  -melody gardot, your heart is as black as night

Stiles never thought he would be there, standing in the middle of Flatbush, trying to find a speakeasy. He didn’t belong there, and the more he looked around at the people milling about the streets, the more that notion was confirmed.

The street was bright, full of lights and sounds and people. Stiles and Scott stood in awe at the intersection, staring around the busy district. Theaters with bright, blinking lights advertising the latest films and restaurants with delicious aromas wafting out of open doors lined each side of the street, while elegantly dressed people walked arm in arm down the sidewalk. 

“Stiles, look!” Scott yelled, hitting Stiles’ arm as he pointed. A sleek, silver car was rolling down the street. “Wow.” 

“I told you this would be the bee’s knees!” Stiles slapped Scott’s arm as they crossed the street. They were looking for a theater called The Preserve. Danny had told them about it at school – well, if Stiles was honest, Danny hadn’t told them as much as Stiles and Scott overheard him telling Jackson and then forced Danny to tell them where the speakeasy was. Stiles knew his dad would not approve – he was the sheriff, after all – but he’d heard his dad over and over again say that the Prohis could deal with the speakeasies; he had more important things to worry about than whether or not someone was drinking illegal alcohol.

Scott and Stiles walked the entire way down the street, past all the fancy, posh theaters and upscale restaurants to the very last one. The Preserve was on a corner, darker and less lively, almost tucked away like it had been forgotten. The marquee was more muted than the previous theaters they had passed, and everything about it was less fancy and ostentatious. Stiles and Scott shared a look as they walked up to the window. A young man was working behind the glass, and he looked at them, bored.

“One ticket for _The Last Laugh_ ,” Stiles said.

“One?” Scott exclaimed.

“I’m not buying your movie ticket,” Stiles replied.

“Twenty-five cents,” the guy at the window said. Stiles handed over a quarter, while Scott grumbled and dug twenty five cents from his pocket. 

Neither of them had ever been to the theater before, so when they walked inside, they looked around in wonder. The Preserve was large and dim. Couches and chairs lined the walls, all covered in rich blues, purples, and blacks. Posters for films and silent film stars hung on the walls. Four closed doors led off from the hall, reading Theaters 1-4 above them. Some people ambled along the hallway, a few scattered among the couches and chairs. Everyone was dressed beautifully – women in shiny evening dresses with their hair up and jewels adorning their wrists and necks, men in perfectly tailored suits, wing-tipped shoes, and fedoras. Stiles glanced at his own shirt and trousers, and then at Scott, and felt extremely underdressed.

“Danny said you have to go through a secret door in one of the theaters,” Stiles whispered. 

“I know,” Scott whispered back. “I was there.”

Stiles led the way to Theater number 4. He didn’t know what he expected when he opened the door, but an actual theater was not it. A black and white movie played on screen, and people were sitting in the chairs, watching the film. Scott moved over and sat in one of the chairs, so Stiles sat with him. 

“What now?” Scott asked.

“I don’t know. I thought this would be a lot different.”

“Maybe Danny was pulling our leg,” Scott said. “Maybe it’s a big joke, and he and Jackson will laugh at us tomorrow.”

“I don’t know, Danny didn’t seem like he was lying.”

Just then, two other people came in the door. Stiles and Scott watched as they walked down the aisle, then cut across near the front of the theater and went through an unmarked door in the corner. Stiles and Scott both looked at each other, and then got up and rushed towards the door, stumbling in their haste. 

The door opened up into a long, dark hallway. Stiles and Scott could hear muffled music in the background as they slowly crept along the dark corridor. At the end of the hallway, another door led down a flight of stairs. With each step, the noise grew louder and louder. Finally, the pathway dead ended at a door.

Stiles knocked on the door, and a small opening appeared behind a metal grate at eye level, revealing a dark face.

“Wolfsbane?” Stiles said hesitantly. The two dark eyes pierced into him, and then the small door shut. Stiles figured that was it, he didn’t pass the weird speakeasy test, didn’t give the right password or said it the wrong way. But then he heard the click of the door just before it swung open.

“Welcome to the Sour Wolf,” the man said as Stiles and Scott stepped inside. 

Immediately, they were hit with the sound of loud music and laughter, the smell of smoke thick around them. The bitter taste of alcohol hung in the air and settled on Stiles’ tongue. 

“We’re really here, buddy!” Stiles said, clapping Scott on the shoulder. “In a _real_ speakeasy! A juice joint! A drum! A gin mill!”

“Stiles?” Scott said, “Shut up.”

Stiles glanced around the crowded room. Men dressed in tuxedos, snazzy pin stripe suits, fedoras and wing tipped shoes were dancing with women dressed in long, elegant gowns and short, fringed dresses. The walls were covered in dark indigo curtains, the tables and bar a dark mahogany, and a dusty, dim chandelier hung from the ceiling. Booths lined both walls, deep private insets with sofas covered in plush black velvet curved around low tables. Along the back wall was a stage, and directly across from it, on Stiles and Scott’s right, was a long bar.

“What should we do?” Stiles asked, bouncing on his heels. “Dance? Get a drink?”

“Drink?” Scott said.

“Good idea. We can’t dance.” Stiles pushed his way through the crowd towards the bar and just managed to squeeze in near the end. Three bartenders were working, two girls and a guy. The nearest, a blonde girl around their age, came up to them and sat two teacups on the bar.

“What’s your poison?”

“Huh?” Scott asked. “You’re not serious? You don’t serve alcohol that’ll kill us, do you?”

“Kid, how old are you?” the girl asked, looking Scott up and down before turning her cat-like gaze on Stiles. 

“As old as you,” Stiles retorted. The girl narrowed her eyes, then her red lips parted in a grin.

“Touché.”

“Surprise us,” Stiles said, and the blonde nodded, grabbing nondescript bottles from under the counter and shelves behind her. “Whoa!” Stiles exclaimed when she stepped away and reached for a bottle on a tall shelf. “You’re wearing pants.”

“Yeah,” she sneered, “so are you.”

“But – “

“Ain’t you never seen a girl in trousers before?” she asked, mixing the two drinks in the tea cups with her fingers. She was also wearing a white button up with the sleeves rolled up and suspenders. She had unbuttoned just enough of the shirt to display her ample cleavage.

“Um, no. The women in my neighborhood wear dresses,” Stiles answered as she pushed the cups across the marred wooden counter. She smiled.

“The name’s Erica if you need anything.” With that, she turned to the next customer.

Stiles and Scott took a sip from their mix-matched cups – Stiles’ with roses on the side, Scott’s a lacework pattern. The drink was bitter and strong with a slightly sweet aftertaste. Stiles grimaced as he swallowed, but took another drink as he glanced around. Now that Stiles looked closer, he realized that the clientele was widely varied. Women dressed like men, and he even saw a man in a dress with rouge on his cheeks. He tried not to stare, but he had never seen anything like it. Some of the women’s skirts were so short Stiles could see their knees _and_ their thighs, and some of the couples were dancing close, chests and hips pressed together.

“Stiles, I think we’re in a homosexual speakeasy,” Scott leaned over and said. 

“Nothing gets past those keen senses of yours, does it, Scott?” Stiles asked as he saw two men kiss each other in the middle of the dance floor. Scott followed his gaze, his mouth hanging open in shock.

“What kind of place is this?” 

“Anything you want it to be,” a smoky female voice said from the other side of Stiles. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a dark-haired girl with a perfectly arched eyebrow. She was wearing an ice blue dress with a white fur draped across her shoulders. Once again, Stiles felt underdressed.

“Excuse me?”

“The Sour Wolf accommodates _all_ lifestyles,” she said as she swept her hand towards the room. “Women and men, women and women, short dresses, pants, men in dresses,” she leaned towards Stiles, her lips brushing against his ear, “even men and men, if that’s what interests you.”

“What, I, um, we,” he stuttered. The girl’s lips curled into a feral smile. 

“But this isn’t a whorehouse, so don’t think you’re going to find anything like that here,” she continued. “This place is respectable, and we demand our patrons conduct themselves with the utmost class. Feel free to be yourselves.” She stood up, nodded to both of them as she adjusted her fur, and then sashayed into the crowd.

“Who in the world was that?” Scott asked.

“Cora Hale,” Erica answered. They turned around sharply at the intrusion. Erica motioned towards the stage on the other side of the room. “Her brother owns the place.” Stiles and Scott turned back around as Cora took the stage, flicking her wrist towards a guy with curly hair sitting at the piano. He counted out a rhythm to the band, and then soft brass filled the room, accompanied by deep percussion and clear, rhythmic piano. Cora stepped up to the microphone and started singing.

“Hey,” Stiles hit Scott on the arm. “Isn’t that Danny?” Stiles pointed on stage, where Danny was seated along the back wall behind Cora, playing the trumpet.

“I didn’t know Danny played the trumpet!” 

“You could fill this room with everything you don’t know, McCall,” a familiar voice drawled behind them. They found Jackson at the edge of the bar, looking at them disapprovingly. “What are you two losers doing here?”

“Danny told us about it,” Stiles said.

“Besides, it’s not like it’s your speakeasy,” Scott said.

“You two don’t belong here,” Jackson sneered. He glanced over their shoulders and saw the teacups. “Oh, sheriff’s son’s drinking?” He grabbed one of the cups and brought it to his nose, sniffed, and then took a small sip. He spit it back out. “God, this place is awful. Trying to pass this swill as genuine alcohol.” He scoffed.

“Better not let the owner hear you talking that way,” Erica said. “He takes pride in his product.”

“Oh, how novel. A proud bootlegger. Tell me, whose bathtub did he get this out of?”

Erica glared. “If you don’t like the establishment, there are thousands of others that accommodate snot-nosed rich boys like yourself. I hear there are a few where you get a free blowjob with every shot of whiskey, and with scotch, the guys let you fuck them from behind.”

“You foul-mouthed whore,” Jackson growled.

Suddenly, a tall man with broad shoulders and dark stubble appeared behind Erica. “Having any trouble here, Erica?” Stiles was taken aback at the voice that came from that body and dark expression. It was softer than he expected, not nearly as deep.

Erica tilted her head. “I don’t think so, boss. I think he was just leaving.”

Jackson glared. “Shouldn’t even have wasted my time at a cheap drum like this in the first place.” He stormed away.

The man turned his steely gaze on Scott and Stiles. “It might be wise if you leave with your friend.”

Stiles scoffed and rolled his eyes. “That guy? Seriously? Jackson is _no_ friend of ours.”

“Still,” the man continued, his glower bearing down on them. “Isn’t it past your bedtimes?” He glared at them a few more moments before retreating further down the bar.

“Maybe we should leave,” Scott suggested, looking around nervously. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

“Ignore him,” Erica said. Stiles spun around on his stool. “Derek’s like that with everyone. Plus, he’s extremely over protective of this place. He doesn’t like it when people bad mouth it. He’s thrown people out for less.”

“Why are you talking to us?” Stiles blurted. 

Erica gave him a curious look, then shrugged. “Maybe I think you’re both cute.” She laughed and then started helping another customer.

*

The next night, Stiles squeezed his way to the bar, finally ending up pressed between two large men. He took off his jacket and tugged his vest taut before readjusting the newsboy cap on his head. The bartender, the girl with the dark bobbed hair he’d seen the night before, greeted him with a smile.

“What can I get you?”

“Surprise me,” Stiles said. She nodded, giving him another one of her dimpled-smiles that Stiles thought probably made just about everyone fall in love with her, and went about making his drink. A few moments later, she slid the teacup across the bar. Stiles lifted it and sniffed it hesitantly.

The girl laughed. “Gin fizz. It’s our most popular drink. You’ll love it.”

Stiles took a sip, and it was like an explosion on his tongue, but not bad. He smiled before taking another sip. “Not bad. Better than what I had last night.”

“I heard that,” Erica said as she swept behind the other girl, grabbing a bottle from a low shelf behind them. “Don’t go telling Allison lies about me.”

“I’m not saying anything!” Stiles said with his hands up. 

“Liar,” Erica retorted before disappearing down to the other end of the bar. The guy from the night before, Derek, Stiles thought Erica had said his name was, glanced over at Stiles. He glared at him for a moment before mixing a drink. Stiles went to turn away, but couldn’t drag his eyes from Derek’s forearms. His shirt sleeves were rolled all the way to his elbows, revealing strong muscle, tanned skin, and soft dark hair. Stiles stared at the smooth way the muscles moved as Derek spun bottles in his hand and tossed them into the air before catching them. 

“You were here last night?” the girl, Allison, asked. Stiles forced himself to look away from Derek’s performance and instead focus on Allison.

“Yes. My friend Danny is in the band. He plays the trumpet. I came here with a buddy, but tonight, I’m alone.”

“That’s too bad,” Allison said, smiling sympathetically. “If you need anything, let me know.”

Stiles nodded and smiled before Allison started talking to other customers. His teacup in hand, he moved from the bar and hung his jacket on a coat rack near the door before walking to a chest-high table near the edge of the dance floor. He leaned his elbows on the table as he sipped his drink and studied his surroundings closely. The room was filled with noise and people dancing and laughing and drinking. And the _glamour_. It was unlike anything Stiles had ever seen, like stepping into a whole other world. Tonight, Stiles had tried to dress more the part. He had worn the one pair of brown dress trousers he owned, matching jacket and vest with a white button up shirt, and his newsboy cap. He fit in much better than he did the night before.

Cora was onstage singing, her smoky vocals curling through the crowd. Stiles looked around and saw people clutching one another, dancing to the slow, sultry tune. A woman came up to him, grabbed his hand, and dragged him onto the dance floor. He started to protest, but by the time he overcame his surprise, he was already standing before her, her arms around his neck.

“I can’t dance,” he said in her.

“Don’t care,” she replied as she pulled him closer. He didn’t know what to do, so he glanced around and mimicked a few of the other men by placing his hands on her hips. That seemed to suffice. 

Stiles had never been this close to a woman before. She smelled strongly of some flowery perfume, and when she leaned close, it was hard for Stiles to breathe. Her face was painted, her lips bright pink and her eyes lined with kohl. Stiles honestly found her repulsive.

He danced with her for half an hour. She didn’t seem intent on letting him go, and definitely liked him more than he liked her. Stiles didn’t even know her name, and she hadn’t asked his. He didn’t want to know her name; he didn’t care.

The song switched, and the entire dance floor started doing the Charleston. His partner started dancing, kicking her arms and legs out gaily, and Stiles just stood there, staring at her. “What’s with you, gloomy Gus?” she asked. 

“I don’t know how to do this dance,” he admitted. 

“Really?” she asked, stopping and putting a hand on her hip. “What are you, some kind of country hayseed?”

“No!” Stiles exclaimed, offended. “I grew up in Greenpoint.”

She obviously wasn’t interested in talking, because she turned away from him and quickly found a new partner, leaving Stiles standing in the middle of the dance floor, alone. He started to worm his way through the dancing mass, but someone caught his hand. He glanced over his shoulder and found Cora smiling at him.

“I was hoping I could have this dance,” Cora said. She was wearing red tonight, and her dress sparkled under the lights. 

“I can’t dance,” Stiles said. 

“It’s not that hard. Just follow my lead.” She grabbed his right hand and put it on her side, her arm resting right above it with her hand on his shoulder. His left hand she clasped at shoulder-level, and then nodded as she stepped back. Stiles just stood there, unsure of what to do. Cora laughed. “First rule of dancing: you need to move.”

Cora walked Stiles through the basic steps, and within a few minutes, he was dancing. “Hey!” he said, looking down at their feet. “I’m actually dancing!”

“Well, sort of,” she joked as he stepped on her foot.

“Sorry.”

“So, you came back again,” Cora said as they went through the same four steps over and over. Stiles knew they were barely dancing at all, if the people with their hands and legs flailing around them was any indication. But Cora didn’t seem to mind, so he didn’t mind. He liked her much better than the other girl. He didn’t feel like he was going to choke on her perfume. “Where’s your friend?”

“I came alone tonight.”

“Oh?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

Stiles shrugged and felt himself blush. “He seemed nervous and uncomfortable.”

“But you weren’t?”

Stiles shook his head. “I think this place is the bee’s knees!” 

Cora smiled. “We’re proud of it.” They danced for a few minutes in silence before Cora asked, “What’s your name?”

“Stiles.”

“Well, Stiles,” Cora said, stepping away as the song ended. “Thank you for the dance. I think you’ve got the makings of a great dancer in you.”

Stiles blushed again and looked down at his feet. “All the credit goes to the teacher.”

Cora bowed to him before disappearing into the crowd. He watched after her, wondering if it would be a bad thing to form a crush on a lounge singer in a speakeasy. He decided it probably was, so he returned to the bar.

Both Allison and Erica were busy with other customers, with large crowds waiting on them, when Stiles approached the bar. Derek, however, had far less people waiting for him in the middle, so he got into the smaller crowd waiting to be served.

When he finally approached, a bar stool had opened up, and he dropped on it heavily. He feet were hurting from all the dancing, and his head was a bit fuzzy from the drink.

“What do you want?” Derek huffed out. Stiles turned to look at him, and just stared for a moment. Derek waited, and then widened his eyes impatiently. “Well?”

“Huh?” Stiles asked, shaken from his trance. “Oh, a gin fizz, I guess.”

Derek pulled a few bottles from under the counter and studied Stiles closely as he poured alcohol into the teacup. “Didn’t I tell you to leave last night?”

“Technically, you told a guy I go to school with to leave,” Stiles said, resting his elbows on the bar. “Then you tried to tell me and my friend to leave. Rudely, might I add.”

Derek snorted in what might be considered a laugh. Maybe. He pushed the teacup across the bar. “It’s still past your bedtime.”

Stiles held Derek’s gaze as he took a sip of his drink. He moaned in delight as he swallowed. Derek stared at him as he took another sip. “This is incredible!” Stiles exclaimed. “This is better than the one Allison made! And her’s was better than Erica’s!”

Derek looked smug, and Stiles thought it made him look handsome, which was a disturbing thought. Perhaps he should lay off on the liquor, but it was just _so damn good_. 

“Might want to slow down there,” Derek said, taking the cup from Stiles’ fingers before he finished gulping it down. “I’m guessing last night you had your first drop of alcohol.”

“What? You don’t think that I frequent speakeasies all over New York?” The look Derek gave Stiles wasn’t very impressed. “I could frequent speakeasies. You don’t know.”

“How old are you? Fifteen?”

“Eighteen, thank you very much,” Stiles replied in irritation. 

“Oh sorry,” Derek said. “Eighteen. Such a difference.”

“I’m as old as half your staff,” Stiles pointed out as he looked around at Erica, Allison, Cora, the doorman, and the piano player. “They can’t be that much older than me.”

“Don’t you have school in the morning?” Derek asked as Stiles tried to reach for his cup. He held it just out of Stiles’ reach. 

“What are you, my dad?” Stiles asked. Derek glared at him. “Yes, I have school in the morning. But it doesn’t matter. I graduate in a month.”

“Still. Showing up hungover or drunk might not be the best thing. Alcohol is illegal, you know.” Derek poured the rest of Stiles’ drink down the drain in the sink behind him. 

Stiles’ eyes got wide as he pointed. “Hey! That was my drink! I paid for that.”

“Not yet, you didn’t.”

“Well, I’m not paying for it.”

“It’s on the house,” Derek said, crossing his arms. They stared at each other for a few moments before Derek rolled his eyes. “Go home. It’s late, and you’re half-drunk.”

“You’re so mean,” Stiles muttered as he got off his stool. “I don’t know why anyone comes here.” Derek just glared at Stiles until he passed the doorman and was back in the stairwell. 

He stumbled up the stairs drunkenly, trying to figure out when he could come back again.

*

Derek slid the cup across the bar, and the man dropped a few coins before he left. Derek grabbed them before moving on to the next customer.

“Busy night,” Chris said as he sat down at an empty barstool. Derek crouched down and opened a low cabinet, shuffling bottles around until he found the good scotch. He poured it into a cup and handed it to Chris. “Thanks.”

“Dad!” Allison said, noticing him. “What are you doing here?”

“Came to see Derek,” Chris replied before taking a sip of the scotch.

Allison glanced down at the other end of the bar, where Erica was flirting with a group of men. “So, you’re not here to rob the cradle?”

Chris sighed, and Derek very deliberately started rinsing out the large pile of soiled teacups. “Allison, I let you work here even though you’re still in school, I let you cut your hair, I don’t care that you wear short dresses. I don’t even care that you are dating a girl. So, why can’t you cut me some slack when it comes to Erica?”

Allison glared. “Because none of that changes the fact that you’re fucking someone your daughter’s age!” Allison stormed out from behind the bar, and Chris ran a hand over his face.

“Don’t ever have children, Derek. They’re a pain in the ass.” Chris finished off the scotch, and Derek refilled it.

“I don’t think Allison is the problem,” Derek replied.

Chris gave Derek a hard expression. “You, too? I’d think a man who likes to take it up the ass would be more accommodating.”

“At least the men I sleep with are my age,” Derek replied with a smirk. “Honestly, Chris, I don’t care who you fuck. But did you really think Allison would approve?”

“Erica’s nineteen. I married Allison’s mother when we were younger than that. I don’t see the problem.”

Derek shook his head. “You’re all adults. If Allison can’t get over it, either break up with Erica or stop worrying about it.”

“Are you trying to get him to break up with me?” Erica asked, punching Derek in the arm. She leaned over the bar and kissed Chris quickly. “Don’t listen to him, he’s an asshole.”

“And standing right here,” Derek said.

“And has no sense of humor,” she said, still leaning across the bar.

Derek rolled his eyes and slapped Erica lightly on the leg. “Get back to work.” Erica sighed, jumped back onto the floor, and went back to the customers. “What did you need?”

“Shipment’s coming in tonight. I need your help.”

Derek glanced around the packed room, trying to decide. Erica was suddenly at his elbow again. “We can handle it. I’ll get Isaac to help when he’s done with Cora’s set, and Boyd can help until then.” Derek looked at the mass waiting on drinks, and was just about to say something when Erica pushed Derek towards the end of the bar. “Go!”

“You do realize I’m the Alpha, right?” Derek asked, unable to hide his amused chuckle.

“Oh yes, so scary and important. You can assert your dominance later or something. Now? Go do what you got to do.” Derek grabbed his jacket and fedora from the hook on the wall. “Don’t forget we’re running extra low on whiskey, so bring some back,” Erica said as Derek slid on his jacket. 

“Tell Boyd to do whatever is necessary if something happens,” Derek explained, “and – “

“Goodbye, Derek!” Erica waved before turning her back on him and serving the impatient customers.

*

Derek stood in the shadows at the harbor, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He scanned the area, all his senses attuned to any change. They’d paid off the local Prohibition agent, so they shouldn’t have any trouble with this delivery, but Derek was careful. Chris leaned against a crate next to him, smoking a cigarette. 

“You come in pretty handy around here,” Chris said, exhaling smoke as he spoke. 

Derek glanced over at him. “Glad my abilities are helpful,” he said sarcastically.

“Kind of ironic that I’d feel more secure with a werewolf at my back than half the assholes I end up working with. I don’t give a fuck about turf wars. If the fucking Italians and Irish and Jews and Russians and whoever the fuck else want to kill each other over a little bit of liquor, let ‘em do it. As long as I get paid, I don’t give a fuck.”

“That your code now?” Derek asked with a smirk.

“Code’s a bunch of bullshit,” Chris said, flicking his cigarette to the ground and stomping it out with the toe of his boot. “All the code got me was a dead wife, a bullet in the leg, and a daughter constantly in danger. I was the only fucking one who lived by the code. Now my code is stay alive and get paid. Simple as that.”

Derek nodded and scanned the horizon, the sound of an approaching boat drawing near. 

“I know Allison’ll be safe with your pack,” Chris said quietly.

“I’ll always protect her,” Derek said, “and you.”

“I don’t care about me,” Chris scoffed. “Sooner or later, I’ll get shot in the back, either by one of the gangs or by the hunters or by a fucking Prohi. Can’t outrun them all forever.”

Derek’s mouth turned into a hard line. “No, you can’t outrun them,” he muttered bitterly.

The ship docked fifteen minutes later, and Derek and Chris watched as men loaded the unmarked crates onto the truck. When it was all secured, Chris handed the ship captain an envelope full of cash, and Derek climbed in the front of the truck as Chris got behind the wheel.

“Where should we sell it? Who needs it?” Chris asked, rubbing his cold hands together.

Derek contemplated for a few moments. “The Sour Wolf needs the whiskey, and probably some of the rum, too. There’s a couple of other places in Brooklyn that would probably buy some of it.”

“What about your uncle?” Chris asked.

Derek grimaced. “I’ve got to go see him this week. I’ll ask him if he needs to reorder anything.”

“Do you want to help me deliver some of these cases? Or do you just want me to drop you off?”

“Take me home,” Derek said. 

*

The speakeasy had been Laura’s idea. 

After their parents died, his dad overseas in the war and his mom from a hunter’s blade a year later, they had no clue what to do. Derek had been seventeen when his father died, old enough for the burden of head of the family to fall onto his shoulders even though Laura was the Alpha. Derek was the male; it was his duty. He’d dropped out of school, went to the streets, and found work. He did all sorts of odd jobs, picked quite a few pockets and stole too many loaves of bread to feed his siblings. Laura had become a seamstress, worked until her fingers bled, and was just about to start working in one of the factories when Derek knew they had to do something. He’d seen the women from those factories; red faces, blistered hands, and those were the lucky ones. Sometimes, accidents happened that left the women so disfigured that they couldn’t leave their houses. Even a werewolf would be lucky to come out unscathed. He wasn’t going to let that happen to his sister. 

Laura had asked Peter for the money. She knew what he did, who he was, but they were family. 

Peter gave her the money, Derek made sure they repaid their debts. And Laura was never the wiser.

Which was why Derek found himself in Manhattan, at a high rise on Park Avenue, knocking on Peter’s door. A butler opened the door, and showed Derek to Peter’s study.

“Derek!” Peter said, opening his arms widely from where he sat in a high-backed leather chair behind a large desk. “I thought I might be seeing you soon.”

“Peter.” Derek nodded and reluctantly took the seat across from him.

“How’s life? How’s the business?” Derek glared. “Now, don’t give me that look. Although you might not believe it, I genuinely care about you and Cora.”

“We’re fine.” Derek pulled an envelope from his jacket, and slid it across the desk. “Your take from this month’s profit.”

Peter opened the envelope and gave the contents a cursory glance. “My, my Derek. Your little speakeasy is doing rather well for itself.” He waved the envelope before him. “This is quite a lot of cash.”

“Do you need any alcohol for your other establishments?” Derek asked brusquely. “We just got a shipment in. All quality alcohol, straight from a ship out of Canada. Rum from the Caribbean and whiskey from Europe, some other things, too.”

“Yes. Get my secretary to give you my order. I’ll pay on delivery as usual.”

Derek nodded, and Peter stared at him for a few moments before reaching into a drawer and handing him a sealed envelope. “My next favor,” Peter said with a cold smile. Derek didn’t even look at the envelope. He just took it and tucked it inside of his jacket.

He stood without a word and made his way to the door before hesitating. He knew he shouldn’t, the weight of the envelope resting against his breast was warning enough, but he knew he couldn’t do this on his own.

Derek turned around and found Peter still watching him. It made the hairs on the back of his neck bristle as he returned to the desk. Peter watched with interest and smug satisfaction. It made Derek sick. 

“I need your help.”

“Really? Don’t tell me that Cora has burned through all that money I loaned you to pay for that fancy finishing school she attends.”

Derek glared. “No. I need your help to find Laura’s killer. It’s been months, and I haven’t found any leads.”

“Ah,” Peter said, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers under his chin. “It wasn’t the cell of hunters you originally believed it was?” Derek shook his head. “How can you be sure?”

“I tracked them, found no traces of her scent.”

“How do you know they didn’t mask it?”

Derek’s eyes bled red. “I’ve learned a few things from you over the years,” he growled. “I made them talk before I killed them.”

Peter grinned, his eyes ice blue. “Well done. One less cell of hunters I’ll have to take down.” Peter leaned forward, his eyes shifting back to normal. “Laura was family, and I’ll get my revenge on whoever was stupid enough to fuck with my family. You can rest assured of that, Derek. I will hunt them down, and when I find them, I will tear the flesh from their bones, and with every scream remind everyone that you do not mess with a Hale.”

Derek bared his teeth. “Not if I rip them apart first.”

*

The Sour Wolf was dead tonight. Derek wasn’t sure why he was even still there. Allison and Lydia were in a booth, giggling and talking, Erica left two hours ago, Boyd was playing cards with Isaac in another booth, and Cora was on the dance floor with the few patrons who were there. He watched as she tried to teach someone how to dance. The poor guy, he was terrible.

Derek decided to go into the storeroom and grab the crates of alcohol he hadn’t had a chance to restock yet. When he returned to the bar, the guy Cora was dancing with earlier was sitting there, sweaty and red-faced.

“Your sister is a slave driver,” the boy said. Derek raised an eyebrow, wondering why he was talking to him. “Can I get some water?” Derek pointed over his shoulder at the tap. “I can come around the bar?” Derek rolled his eyes and didn’t even grace that with a response.

The guy came behind the bar, grabbed a clear glass from a shelf, and filled it from the tap. He watched Derek as he gulped down the water. “Need some help?”

Derek looked up from where he was squatting in front of the crates. He scanned his eyes over the guy’s slight frame, and spindly arms. “No.”

The guy shrugged. “Your loss.”

He returned to the other side of the bar and sat back down on the stool. “I’m Stiles.” Derek didn’t say anything as he opened a cabinet and started placing the rum bottles in perfectly lined rows. “ _And I’m Derek,_ ” Stiles started, lowering his voice in an imitation of Derek. _”I own this place. Thanks for coming so often, even though I changed the password and no one told you._ ” Stiles huffed at Derek. “That wasn’t nice, by the way. Boyd wouldn’t let me in, even though I had been here multiple times that week.”

“Maybe you should have taken it as a sign,” Derek said, looking up. 

“Why do you want to get rid of me so bad?” Stiles asked. “Are you like this with all new customers?”

“Just annoying little kids who shouldn’t be here in the first place.” Derek stood up and dusted off his trousers. “You don’t belong in this place. You’re 18, right? Go out, find a job, go to college, do something instead of wasting all your time in a shithole like this.”

“You do realize you _own_ this shithole, right?” Stiles asked.

“It seems real glamorous right now because it’s new and exciting. You see pretty girls in short, shiny dresses and men in nice suits and you think this is just fun and dancing and drinking.”

“Isn’t it?” Stiles asked. He looked so innocent and naïve sitting on that stool, and Derek wondered if he’d ever been that young. 

“I wish.”

Stiles studied him carefully, and for a moment, Derek wondered if the kid was as innocent as he seemed. But then the look was gone, and Stiles went to get off the stool, and stumbled. Yep. Definitely didn’t belong here.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” Stiles said with a grin before he walked to the door. Derek watched as Stiles chatted with Boyd for a few moments before leaving.

“Your boyfriend just left,” Derek said as Cora came behind the bar. She reached down, opened the cabinet, and grabbed the bottle of aconite whiskey, but Derek took it from her and glared. “You have school tomorrow.”

“Don’t care,” Cora said, “And he’s not my boyfriend.”

“I’ve invested way too much money in your education to have you fuck around the last few weeks before graduation.” Cora pursed her lips and rolled her eyes as Derek set the bottle back on the shelf. “And that kid is sweet on you.”

“Don’t let Boyd hear you talk like that,” Cora said, leaning against the back counter. “Besides, I’m not his type.”

“Cora, I’ve seen the way the men look at you in this place. Everyone wants you, especially when you’re on stage.”

“Pretty sure he’s into men,” Cora said with a smirk. “That makes you more his type.”

Derek glowered. “That kid would run home crying to his mother if a man made an advance on him.”

“He’s nice. You should give him a chance.”

“I don’t have time for anyone. How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t want you to try and set me up every man _you_ think is interested in men?” Derek grabbed Cora by the shoulders and steered her around the bar and towards the door. 

“I want you to be happy, Derek.” 

“I’m happy.”

She laughed. “Such a fucking liar.”

“I don’t pay an astronomical fee to a finishing school to have you talk like that,” Derek said. He stopped her in front of Boyd, who was smirking at them. “Go ahead and close up early. And see that my sister gets home. If she tries to drink anything, I give you my permission to knock her out with wolfsbane or something.”

“You got it, boss,” Boyd said with a smile.

“Boyd won’t hurt me, he loves me,” Cora said, placing a kiss on Boyd’s cheek. “Where are you going?”

“Got a few errands to run. I won’t be home late.” Derek gave her a hug and placed a kiss on the top of her head before hitting a hidden button on the wall and slipping into the secret passage. He quickly ascended the stairs, coming out in an upstairs office. He went over to the desk, unlocked the top drawer, and pulled out the envelope Peter gave him. He read through the contents one more time, then slipped it inside his pocket. Next, Derek opened the safe behind the portrait on the wall. The safe held stacks of cash, documents, and three handguns. He picked up the revolver nearest him, flicked open the cylinder, and slid six bullets inside before snapping it shut. He slid it into his holster and closed the safe.

*

Derek stopped wondering who the men were after his first kill. He’d made the mistake of wanting to know more about the target and questioned Peter. Peter’s guards had beat the shit out of him as Peter explained how the man Derek had killed was a member of a rival gang who challenged one of the wolves in his territory.

Derek never questioned again.

Technically, Derek was Peter’s Alpha, but Peter severed that tie and became an Omega when Laura was still the Alpha. Peter said it was easier to run a gang in New York as an Omega. “None of that pesky werewolf hierarchy bullshit to deal with,” he always said. Alphas, he claimed, had too much emotional and personal investment in their Betas, and Betas had to obey Alphas. As an Omega, Peter did what he wanted. And he was just cunning enough, just slick enough, that he had built a small mob of werewolves and humans. He rubbed elbows with some of the big mob bosses, people Derek read about in the papers and heard whispered about, but Peter had an agenda, which had little to do with money and power and drugs. Derek wasn’t exactly sure what Peter’s agenda was, and frankly, he didn’t care.

Laura had borrowed the money for the speakeasy, for Cora’s schooling, and Derek had paid the debt – for both Laura’s debt and some of his own. With each hit, his debt lessened. But now that he’d asked Peter to help him find Laura’s killer, he was just accruing more and more, and Peter would use Derek until the last possible moment.

Derek heard the footsteps as the man approached, and focused on the sound of his heartbeat. He was alone, and there was no one within the immediate vicinity. Derek waited patiently in the shadows, the gun held loosely in his hand at his side, until the man turned the corner and started down the deserted street. 

When the man was past, his back towards Derek, Derek stepped from the shadows, raised his gun, aimed, and squeezed the trigger. The shot was loud and echoed in the street, and the man crumpled to the ground in a heap. Derek stepped beside him and saw the blood oozing from the bullet hole in the back of his skull.

Derek hurried back into the shadows, quickly climbed the building and ran across rooftops, disappearing into the night without a trace that he’d even been there.

When he got to his brownstone in Columbia Heights, he checked on Cora, who was asleep in bed, before taking the envelope and holding it over the candle flame until it caught fire. He watched it blaze, burning down to nothing but ashes. 

Derek stripped down to his undershirt and underwear and walked out onto the balcony outside his room with a glass of water. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, and looked out over the East River.


	2. Chapter 2

Derek jerked awake, his body covered in a cold sweat. He ran a hand across his face and glanced at the open balcony doors. Still dark.

Sometimes Derek had nightmares. Sometimes he dreamed about his mother’s body sliced in half, sometimes he dreamed about Laura being cut with a hunter’s blade. Occasionally, he dreamed about his father dying on a battlefield somewhere in Italy. 

He often dreamed about the men he killed, saw their lifeless eyes staring up at him accusingly. 

But tonight he’d dreamed about Cora, about finding her body in pieces. He couldn’t decide if it’d be worse if he found Cora’s body, or if she found his.

He rolled over and looked at his watch. He knew he should try and get some sleep, but he couldn’t sleep after the nightmares. So, he got dressed, left Cora a note, and then headed downstairs to his car. 

Derek got to warehouse an hour later. It was well outside the city limits, in a rundown rural town forty miles north. When Derek opened the door to the warehouse, he found a group of eight men working the distillery. They noticed him, and the foreman approached him with an outstretched hand.

“Mr. Hale,” he said. “Didn’t expect you here tonight.”

“I don’t make it a habit of announcing all my visits,” Derek said, walking around with a careful eye. The distillery had been Chris’ idea, a way to make more cash outside of the liquor they got from the ships. The money they made from that had a percentage that went not only to Peter, but a few other people whose territory they sold it in. Chris and Derek sold the liquor from the distillery to people in upstate New York, and the profit from this was one hundred percent their own.

“Want to test the product?” the foreman asked.

Derek looked at him with a level gaze. “After you.”

“Of course, Mr. Hale.” The man poured splashes into two glasses from a bottle that hadn’t been stoppered yet. Derek watched as the man took a sip, and then took his own. It was bitter, but not bad for homemade gin.

“Not bad,” he said. It wouldn’t pass in New York, but out in the country, it’d suffice. He set the glass down and turned to the crates already packaged. “How many are ready to go?”

“Twenty five thousand,” the foreman replied. 

“Load them in the truck. I’ll take them out now.”

“Yes, Mr. Hale.”

Derek left his car at the warehouse while he took the truck up the highway, selling to their frequent customers along the way. Chris was better at this part, the salesman part with the talking, but most of these people had been buying from them for years. Derek had to do little convincing.

It took him all morning to sell the cases, but twenty five thousand bottles of cheap liquor didn’t last long with the demand. Sometimes Derek thought the rural parts of New York drank more than the city.

By the time Derek got back to New York, it was late afternoon. He skipped lunch in favor of catching some sleep before his nightly shift at the Sour Wolf.

*

About halfway through the night, Derek heard a commotion over to the side. He turned his head as one man landed a punch on another man’s jaw. He was immediately pushing past patrons to get to them, but stopped in surprise when he found the situation already being handled.

“Is she really worth it?” a voice said. Derek shoved a man out of his way so he could step closer. Stiles was standing on the other side of the two men, his hands held out, palms facing the men. “She’s a pretty lady, sure, but is she worth fighting over?”

“He called her a whore,” the man who threw the punch said.

Stiles turned to the other man. “That wasn’t very nice. Why did you do that?”

Derek poised himself, ready to intervene when the guy made to punch Stiles, but he didn’t. He actually looked down at his feet, like he was embarrassed. “She was dancing with me, then went to go dance with this fucking piker.”

“You’re the piker, you fucking – “

“Whoa!” Stiles intervened. “Enough with the name calling. This ain’t a school yard.” Derek actually laughed at that. Stiles glanced over the men’s shoulders at Boyd, and nodded. Boyd grabbed the first man, and Derek reached out and grabbed the second, and dragged him towards the exit.

“What the fuck, I didn’t do nothing!” the man yelled. “I thought that fellow was gonna let us stay.”

“That fellow doesn’t own the club,” Derek growled, “I do. And if I ever see your ugly face again, I’ll beat it until no one’ll recognize it.” He tossed the guy through the door, threatening the other man the same way.

Boyd slammed the door, and Derek stalked back into the crowd. Stiles was laughing with Scott and Isaac, and Derek grabbed him by the collar and dragged him through the crowd, towards the stage. Stiles protested the whole way, but Derek ignored him. He pushed Stiles inside a small room, slamming the door behind him. Stiles stumbled and caught himself on a chair. He looked around him in confusion.

“Is this a dressing room?”

“It’s Cora’s,” Derek answered before advancing on Stiles. He got in his face, but to Stiles’ credit, he didn’t back down or look scared. Derek couldn’t decide if that made him incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. “What the _fuck_ were you thinking?” Derek yelled.

“Huh?”

“Getting between those two guys like that?”

“I was trying to help. I mean, isn’t the idea when one guy hits another guy that the hitting should stop?”

Derek took a step back. “You do realize you could have gotten stabbed or killed.” He raised his eyebrows and looked at Stiles in seriousness. “Some of the people who come here are dangerous. You think it’s just glamorous fun, but these men are criminals, and they’ll be liable to cut you as quick as throw a punch. And the last thing I need is for a fucking cop’s son to get stabbed in my club.” Stiles looked at him in shock, and Derek sneered. “That’s right, I know your little secret.”

“I’m not going to rat you out, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Stiles said quietly. 

“If that’s what I was worried about, you wouldn’t be standing here.” Derek looked at Stiles for a moment and then sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Look, Stiles. I know you just wanted to help, but that’s what I pay people for, people like Boyd, who know how to deal with these kinds of things. The only thing you should do is drink and have fun.”

Derek turned to go, but paused when he reached the dressing room. He turned his head slightly and over his shoulder said, “You did good out there, talking those men down. Just don’t do it again.”

*

The next week, Derek received a letter from Peter requesting his presence at the hotel, so Derek reluctantly crossed the river into Manhattan and went to Peter’s office.

“Derek,” Peter said when Derek dropped into the seat across from him. “I have a few leads on Laura’s killer.” Derek looked at Peter sharply while he paused, probably for dramatic effect. Peter loved drawing everything out instead of getting to the point. “Tell me, how is Chris Argent doing?”

“What?” Derek asked.

“His loyalties still with whoever won’t stab him in the back?” Peter asked.

“That’s a bit ironic coming from you,” Derek replied. 

Peter smiled. “You like him. He’s _Pack_. How…interesting, a werewolf hunter and his hunter daughter part of a werewolf Pack.”

“This isn’t news,” Derek said. “Are you going to get to the point or just tell me what I already know?”

“Gerard is back in town,” Peter said, his eyes flashing blue. “Did Chris tell you?”

“I don’t think he knows.”

“Are you sure?” Peter asked, tilting his head. “Are you sure his loyalties are as clear as yours?”

“I trust him more than I trust you,” Derek replied evenly.

“That hurts, Derek. I’ve done nothing but offer you and your siblings my love and protection since your parents died.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Save the bullshit for someone it will work on. Did Gerard kill Laura?”

“I don’t know yet. But I daresay it’s likely connected. It’s too convenient for it not to be. I still believe he’s the one who personally killed Talia, and one day someone will pay for what they did to my sister.” Peter leaned back in the chair and sighed. “Gerard has wormed his way in with the feds. He’s got hunters masquerading as Prohibition Agents and cops. Be careful.”

“I’m always careful.”

“What about the sheriff’s son?” Peter asked. 

Derek narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Seems rather odd that Gerard comes back, hunters permeate New York’s finest, and a sheriff’s son becomes smitten with your establishment.”

“Stiles is not a mole,” Derek replied angrily. “How do you even know about him anyway?”

“I have eyes and ears everywhere, Derek. Why do you care that I know about him?” Peter’s eyes were piercing, but Derek didn’t even flinch. A butler came in at that moment and set a cup of coffee on Peter’s desk. “I hear he’s sweet on Cora.”

“They’re friends.”

“Ah.” Peter took a sip of coffee, his eyes never leaving Derek. “Friends. How quaint. I still believe Mr. Stilinski is a person of interest.”

“You’re not to touch Stiles,” Derek said slowly, his eyes flashing red. “Leave him alone. He’s harmless.”

Peter smirked. “You always did have a soft spot for lost causes and wayward souls.” Peter spread his arms in submission. “I won’t touch Stiles. I wasn’t aware you had acquired such a fondness for the boy.”

“I haven’t,” Derek said.

“Keep telling yourself that.” Peter leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Gerard and his band of hunters must be stopped. Find out if Chris knows anything, and keep your eyes open.” Derek nodded and stood up. When he was at the door, Peter said, “Gerard hasn’t forgotten about Kate.”

Derek yanked the door open and slammed it behind him.

*

“You look like hell.”

Derek glanced up from the drink he was mixing. Stiles was sitting across the bar from him on a stool. He wore his usual newsboy cap and a goofy smile. Derek thought he looked so ridiculous sitting in the middle of everyone else. He stuck out like a sore thumb.

“Go away.”

“You’re always so mean to me,” Stiles said. 

“Generally that encourages people to leave me alone.”

“Erica and Cora tell me I should ignore you. They also tell me you’re nice underneath all of that.” Stiles waved his hand around in front of Derek. “I’m determined to make you nice to me.”

Derek cocked his head to the side and studied Stiles carefully. “Why do you even care? Don’t you have better things to do than bother bartenders who don’t want to be bothered?”

Stiles shrugged. “Not really. I have a pretty dull life. This is about the extent of exciting that things get.”

“Where’s your friend? Go bother him.” Derek took an order and started mixing a Mary Pickford. Stiles waited until he was finished to answer.

“He’s over talking to Isaac,” Stiles continued. “Apparently, that’s his new best friend or something.”

Derek rolled his eyes, but didn’t miss how there was a genuine sadness radiating from Stiles. He started to wonder if maybe Stiles was just lonely. Too bad he didn’t have time to indulge some eighteen year old’s insecurities.

“Give me another one of your fantastic Gin Fizzes,” Stiles said with a smile. 

“How many have you had already?” Derek asked, arching an eyebrow.

Stiles ran a hand through his hair, and Derek watched the way his long fingers disappeared into the dark strands, the way Stiles’ shirt pulled across his shoulders. He shook his head. He clearly needed more sleep.

“Just one, so it’s okay, _Dad_.” Derek went about making the drink, taking extra care to mix the ingredients just right for that extra fizz and sweetness. He waited as Stiles took a sip, his face melting into pure pleasure as he swallowed. Derek’s eyes watched the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as the alcohol slid down his throat.

“Derek, just, fuck. This is the best thing ever. If you presented this single drink to Congress, they’d overturn the Volstead Act immediately.” Stiles finished gulping it down, his cheeks pink and eyes bright. He smiled a bit drunkenly as he set the cup on the counter and got off the stool. 

Derek watched as he disappeared into the crowd, thinking about what Peter had said. There was no way Stiles could be a mole, was there? Stiles danced awkwardly with a girl on the dance floor, with little style, grace, or control of his limbs. Derek tried to envision him working with hunters, tried to envision Stiles being a mole. The thought was laughable.

Still. He could never be too careful.

*

“What do you know about Stiles?” Derek asked Cora a few days later. They were sitting in their living room; Cora was on the floor, working on homework.

“Why?” Cora smirked. “Are you interested?”

“How many times have I told you that I’m not interested in dating anyone?” Derek glared at her. “Answer the question.”

She didn’t look like she believed him, but she replied, “He goes to a prep school in Manhattan on scholarship, he goes there with Danny, the newest trumpet player. That’s how he found out about the speakeasy. He’s graduating in a few weeks, Scott’s his best friend, he lives in Greenpoint. He likes baseball, he’s Polish, his dad’s a cop, his mother died from Spanish Influenza.” Cora shrugged. “That’s not very much. Why?”

“Peter said – “

“Uncle Peter?” Cora groaned and rolled her eyes. “You know he’s a creep, right?”

“I am aware of that.”

“I don’t know why you do business with him. I know he’s in the Mob.”

“Cora,” Derek warned. 

“I know, a lady is never to speak of such things,” she replied in a sarcastically prim tone.

“It’s not that,” Derek said, “I just don’t want you talking about those things period. Don’t even think about those things. It gets you killed.”

“Is that what happened to Laura?” Cora asked quietly.

“I don’t know what happened to Laura,” Derek said. “I’m trying to figure that out.”

“It’s not going to get you killed, is it?” Cora asked. She looked so young in that moment, sitting on the floor and looking up at Derek in worry. “Because if it is, it’s not worth it. Laura wouldn’t want you to get killed.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Derek said, offering her a smile. 

“What did Peter say about Stiles?” Cora asked after a few minutes.

“He knows Stiles is the son of a cop,” Derek answered truthfully. “He’s worried Stiles may be untrustworthy.”

“What? Like Stiles is working for some Prohi?” Cora exclaimed. “That’s absurd! I mean, have you _seen_ Stiles? He’d be the worst Prohi ever.”

“I know, but Peter thinks a sheriff’s son frequenting a speakeasy and befriending the owners is cause for concern.” Derek scratched his beard absently, staring at the far wall. 

“Horsefeathers!” Cora exclaimed. “You believe him! You think Stiles may be trying to bring us down.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Derek, don’t lie to me. I know when you’re lying.” Cora glared.

“It is kind of convenient,” Derek admitted. He hated himself, but the more he thought about it, the more it just made _sense_. “Why did he specifically befriend you? And why does he bother me every time he comes into the place? It’s not right, Cora.”

“Maybe he likes you,” Cora said. “And I talked to _him_ first, and I asked _him_ to dance. He’s not a bad guy! I can’t even believe you would entertain such a thought!”

“Why are you getting so angry?” Derek asked.

“Because! You’re letting Peter get inside your head again. You know you can’t trust him.”

Derek knew he should listen to Cora, but there was a nagging voice at the back of his head that kept telling him that something just wasn’t right about Stiles. 

*

There was an informant, a werewolf and Italian immigrant, who lived in Bushwick that Derek sometimes paid for information. His family was part of some of the major gangs in New York, which made it easy for him to find out information. Derek asked him if he’d heard anything about Gerard and his hunters, but he’d come up empty on information. Derek left frustrated and angry.

No one seemed to know anything about Laura’s death, Gerard, or any of the recent hunter activities. Derek wondered if everything was that low-key or if someone was paying them to keep their mouths shut.

Derek was walking down the street when he realized he was close to Greenpoint. Well, _close_ being a relative term. Close enough that he thought of Stiles, and thought that maybe he could scope out Stiles’ neighborhood – just to see if anything was amiss. Despite Cora’s protestations, Derek still had his doubts about the guy. Stiles hadn’t shown up for the last few nights, and Derek wondered why. Maybe he realized they were on to him. Or maybe he just was busy with schoolwork. (Maybe Derek shouldn’t have noticed, and maybe he shouldn’t have cared so much.)

He pulled his fedora farther down on his head and stuffed his hands in his pockets as he walked the dark streets. He wasn’t familiar with this area. It wasn’t extremely run down or poverty stricken, but it wasn’t nearly as affluent as Brooklyn Heights. The tenements were smaller, only rising five or six stories, and they were built extremely close together. Many of them had bakeries, restaurants, and stores operating out of the first floors.

Derek turned down a street and caught sight of a few kids ahead of him. It looked like five boys were standing over someone, and even from down the street, Derek could hear the yells and jeers. He approached cautiously, definitely unwilling to get involved in any street violence.

“Fucking Polack,” a guy with a thick Italian accent said. The group of guys surrounded a body curled on the ground, and one of them kicked the lying figure. “I thought I told you to stay off our fucking street.”

“You don’t own Brooklyn, Vincenzo,” the figure on the ground said. Something about that voice caught Derek’s ear, and he hurried closer, inhaling a familiar scent. 

One of the boys grabbed the guy from the ground by the shirt, yanking him up. Derek caught a glimpse of the boy’s head lolling around before the guy holding him punched him in the jaw. _Stiles_.

“Hey!” Derek yelled, coming up to them. “Let him go.”

The one holding Stiles, Vincenzo, looked over at Derek. Derek caught a glimpse of Stiles, his mouth bloody as he stared at Derek in surprise.

“Who the fuck are you?” Vincenzo said. “Get the fuck out of here before we beat the shit out of you.”

Derek stepped closer, and one of Vincenzo’s guys tried to assault him from the side. Derek easily knocked him to the ground. Another one came at him, and he dodged, his eyes never leaving Vincenzo. “I said, let him go.”

Vincenzo raised his fist, his other hand still balled in Stiles’ shirt, and Derek moved quickly, pinning Vincenzo on the ground before he knew what hit him. Derek pressed the barrel of his gun against the guy’s temple.

“If you _ever_ touch him again,” Derek growled in Vincenzo’s face, using all his control to keep his eyes from bleeding red, “I will blow your fucking brains out. Do you understand?” He dug the barrel deeper into the side of Vincenzo’s head, and he nodded. Derek stood up, eyeing them all until they ran down the street and around the corner. 

He suddenly turned on Stiles. Stiles was staring at him from the sidewalk with his mouth open. “Are you okay?” Derek asked, offering him a hand. Stiles reluctantly took it and let Derek help him to his feet.

“I’m fine,” Stiles said, holding his jaw gingerly as he moved it around. He poked at his ribs experimentally as he asked, “What are you doing here?”

Derek hesitated. “I had a meeting with someone in Bushwick.”

“And then you just happened to stroll into Greenpoint?” Stiles asked suspiciously.

“I like to walk at night sometimes, to clear my head. And I’d never been to Greenpoint.”

Stiles snorted, and waved his hands around. “Well, then let me welcome you to Little Poland.”

Derek could smell the blood on Stiles and stepped forward to get a closer look. “Let’s get you home,” he said. Stiles looked at him oddly but didn’t say anything as he led the way down the street.

Stiles only lived a block away from where those boys had attacked him, in a tiny apartment on the fourth story of a building. Derek stood in the doorway and looked inside the cramped apartment, wondering how any family could live in such a small space.

“Thanks for walking me home,” Stiles said, turning around in the doorway, “but I got it from here.”

“Can I come inside?” Derek asked.

“Why?”

Derek sighed in exasperation. “You’re bleeding. I thought you might need some help getting cleaned up.”

Stiles looked like he was about to protest, but instead, stepped aside and let Derek into the apartment. Stiles pointed to the kitchen before disappearing somewhere else in the house, and Derek removed his coat and hat and laid them on the back of a chair. Stiles returned with cotton balls, antiseptic, and ointment. He set it on the table and dropped into a chair.

Derek watched Stiles closely as he sat on the edge of the table. Stiles looked small and defeated, his hands shaking slightly. Derek poured some peroxide on a cotton ball as Stiles stared absently at the table. Carefully, Derek started wiping at Stiles’ busted lip, causing him to hiss in pain. “Does this happen often?” Derek asked quietly.

“About once a week or two?” Stiles answered. “Scott and I try to avoid them as much as we can, but we can never outrun them for long.”

Derek’s mouth was a hard line as he poured more antiseptic on a fresh cotton ball. “I should have killed those guys,” Derek muttered.

“It’s not just Vincenzo’s gang,” Stiles explained. “I’ve been beat up by just about everyone. Last week it was the Russians, sometimes the Hispanic gangs near Scott’s neighborhood, sometimes the Jewish kids, and once we even got jumped by some Chinese guys. Hell, I’ve even been beaten up by the Polish kids.” Stiles shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Derek said, wiping ointment against Stiles’ split lip. He also brushed some over an abrasion on his cheek. This close, Derek could see just how smooth and pale Stiles’ skin was, couldn’t help but stare at the way the dark lashes fluttered when he closed his eyes. Stiles was breathing heavily, his warm, soft breath ghosting across Derek’s wrist. “What does your dad say about this?”

“He doesn’t know,” Stiles replied. “I try to keep it away from him. He doesn’t need to worry; he’s stressed out enough as it is.”

Derek set the cotton swabs and bottles to the side, then gently urged Stiles to his feet. He reached out and lifted Stiles’ shirt, revealing two large, round bruises already forming. Derek reached out and touched them lightly, noticing the way Stiles’ breath hitched and his heartbeat lurched. Derek grabbed the cotton ball and cleaned the small bit of skin that had been broken by one of the boy’s boots. “How do you keep this from your father?”

“We don’t see a lot of one another. He works most of the time, so it’s usually just me.” Stiles had more definition than Derek expected, long, lean lines and flat planes. His eyes lingered a touch too long on Stiles’ pink nipple, on the dark hair on his belly.

“Is that why you’re always at the club?” Derek asked, lifting his eyes.

Stiles blushed and looked awkwardly at the table. “It’s lonely here, night after night by myself.” He glanced back at Derek, and Derek was completely unnerved by his eyes. “I’ll stop coming if you really want me to.”

Derek dropped his shirt. He wiped some errant blood off Stiles’ chin with the cotton ball. “You don’t have to do that,” Derek said. Stiles smiled, and Derek felt something uncomfortable settle in his chest. He abruptly stood up. “You probably want to put some ice on that cheek, and probably that lip. It’ll help with the swelling and the bruising.”

Stiles nodded. “Okay.” Derek grabbed his coat and hat, and Stiles followed him to the door. “Thank you.”

Derek turned around, unsure which part exactly Stiles was thanking him for. So, he just said, “If they mess with you again, tell me.” Stiles nodded, and Derek left the apartment.

Stiles was definitely not working with the feds, but he had just become a bigger problem than Derek had anticipated.

*

The weeks leading up to Stiles’ graduation went mostly like this: Stiles went to school, Stiles went to The Sour Wolf. His dad was working a lot of late shifts, so he only saw him about once a week, on Sundays.

“What’s wrong with your face?” the sheriff asked while they were eating dinner on Sunday afternoon. Stiles touched his lip absently. He thought of Derek, thought of how a few days ago Derek had saved him from what probably would have been one of the worst beatings Vincenzo had ever given him. Thought of him in the apartment, at this very table. If Stiles wouldn’t have known better, he’d have thought Derek had been touching him almost tenderly. “Stiles?”

“Scott, Danny, Jackson, and I were horsing around after gym on Friday,” Stiles lied. “Scott accidentally elbowed me in the face.”

“You two are a little old for that, aren’t you?” the sheriff asked.

Stiles shrugged. “We’re guys. We’ll never be too old for that kind of thing.”

The sheriff shook his head and went back to his kielbasa.

*

The Sour Wolf was packed. Stiles and Scott were unable to get to the door because there were so many people crowded in the small space at the bottom of the stairs. Boyd was turning people away from the door, and although Stiles tried to push his way to the front, there was no way to break through the crowd.

“Applesauce,” Scott said. “I was looking forward to dancing tonight.”

“Don’t you mean you were looking forward to seeing Isaac tonight?” Stiles asked. At least Scott had the decency to blush. “I got an idea.”

Stiles led the way back up into the theater, through theater number four, and then crept down the hallway. He tried one of the unmarked doors, but found the first one locked.

“What are you doing?” Scott asked quietly.

“Trying to find a secret passage downstairs,” Stiles replied. “All these places have secret passages that lead outside and to different parts of the buildings. I’ve read the files my dad’s brought home from raids.”

“Stiles, that’s illegal!”

“Says the guy going to a speakeasy,” Stiles said with a roll of his eyes. Stiles tried another door, and this one opened. He grinned. “See?”

“I’m not so sure about this,” Scott said. “I think I’m just going to go downstairs and try to make my way to the front.”

“Suit yourself,” Stiles said. Scott closed the door behind him, and Stiles walked around the room, studying the walls carefully. He looked for any oddity, anything slightly out of place. He finally found what he was looking for. There was a small irregularity in the wall that no one would even be able to see if they weren’t looking for it. Stiles searched around near it and moved a picture frame. Jackpot – a small button. He pushed it, and the door slid aside. He grinned and entered.

The stairs didn’t lead down like he expected, but up. Maybe he shouldn’t be nosy, but he was inquisitive by nature, so he wanted to see where the secret passage he found led. Because, really? Secret passage. How neat was that?

Stiles walked up a flight of stairs before he set foot on a landing. Muffled voices could be heard from the other side of the wall, so Stiles leaned his ear against the door and strained to listen. He didn’t recognize any of them, and through the layers of plaster it just sounded male. He did make out a few words, _Laura, murder, Gerard._ None of that made any sense, but Stiles knew he distinctly heard _murder_. And here he was, lurking in a secret passage. He started to panic slightly, and probably was going to get himself murdered.

Before he could return the way he came, the wall in front of him disappeared and he was yanked out and shoved against the wall, the barrel of a gun pressing into his temple. 

Derek was glaring at him, his eyes _murderous_ , Stiles thought.

_Oh great, I really am going to get murdered. By Derek Hale._

“What were you doing in there?” Derek seethed, his face so close Stiles could feel his hot breath against his cheek. Stiles looked over Derek’s shoulder and realized they were alone. Great, no witnesses. Derek pressed the gun deeper into his skin.

“Nothing! I got lost!”

“In a secret passage?” Derek asked. He pulled the hammer back on the gun. Stiles felt the panic setting in, felt the room starting to spin, the sounds whirring in his ears. “Are you working for the feds?” he heard Derek ask. The sound of his voice was stifled like he was still in the secret passage. “Are you working for the hunters?”

Stiles couldn’t breathe. The metal burned against his temple, and any moment Derek would pull the trigger. He’d be dead, and his dad would be all alone, and so would Scott, and _oh god_.

“Stiles?” he heard through the darkness settling around him. Stiles was vaguely aware that he was being moved, and suddenly, he was sitting down. He dropped his head between his knees and tried to breathe. “Stiles, are you okay?” Distantly, it occurred to him that the gun was no longer against his head, instead replaced by Derek’s hand rubbing circles on his back. The feeling of Derek’s broad hand against his back snapped him out of his panic, and the room quickly came back into focus. He raised up and looked over at Derek, feeling drained.

“Stiles, what the fuck just happened?”

“Sometimes, I get overcome with nerves,” Stiles explained, running his hands over his face. He breathed slowly, concentrated on the warmth spreading from the point of contact with Derek.

“Why did it just happen?”

Stiles snapped his head up and scowled. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe it was the fucking _gun_ pointed at my fucking head!”

Derek scowled. “You still haven’t explained what you were doing up here.”

“Do you really think I’m working with the feds?” Stiles asked. 

Derek dropped his hand and stood up. He crossed the room in agitation. “I don’t know, okay?” He spun around on his heels, looking at Stiles closely. “Your father’s a cop, you just show up out of nowhere, you won’t leave me alone, and now I find you lurking in secret passages when I’m in a meeting!” Derek waved his hand at the passage beside Stiles. “What the fuck should I think, Stiles?” 

“I know you’re a bootlegger,” Stiles said, “in addition to owning this place. How do you think I felt when I found you stalking me in my neighborhood?”

“I wasn’t stalking you,” Derek muttered.

“So you say,” Stiles replied. “And then I overhear something about _murder_ , and – “

“Stiles,” Derek interrupted, his face gone hard. Shit, Stiles thought. Maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned that last part. “I’m only going to ask you once.” He stalked forward, watching Stiles like he was some sort of prey. It made the hairs on the back of Stiles’ neck prickle. “And I’ll know if you’re lying.” He bent down until they were eye level. “Are you working for the feds?”

“No.”

Stiles waited as Derek studied him, and then straightened back up. Apparently, he passed Derek’s weird test. “What were you doing in the passage?”

“Boyd’s not letting anyone into the Sour Wolf, so Scott and I went looking for a secret passage into it because I know these places have them.”

“So, where’s Scott now?”

“He didn’t like sneaking around,” Stiles said. “He went back downstairs to try and elbow his way to the front.”

Derek sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Follow me.” Derek pulled a book out from the bookcase behind the desk, revealing a second door. Stiles grinned, and Derek just glowered. “Watch your step,” Derek said as the door slid shut behind them. 

The passage was pitch black, and Stiles held his arms out at his sides, fingertips sliding along the walls to help gain his bearings. After a short path, they started down a steep, narrow stairwell. 

“Don’t go snooping around my speakeasy again,” Derek said suddenly. “You will end up getting yourself killed.”

“Another murder, perhaps?” They’d arrived at a small landing, and Stiles ran straight into Derek’s large body. Derek pushed him back against the wall, and Stiles wondered how in the hell he could see to even know where he was. Stiles couldn’t see a thing.

“You do realize you’re playing a very dangerous game,” Derek said, voice low. He was pressed against Stiles, his warm body heavy against his own. 

“Are you going to murder me, Derek? Is that what you do?” Stiles asked. His voice was even and strong, but his heart was hammering in his chest. He was terrified.

“I keep trying to tell you to stay away, keep your head down, your nose out of things,” Derek said. “Why won’t you just _listen_?”

“What if I don’t want to listen?” Stiles asked, braver than he felt.

“Then it’s your funeral.”

Suddenly, Derek’s body was gone, and Stiles felt like his legs were going to give out.

*

“I hate my brother,” Cora said, slipping into the booth Stiles was occupying. 

“I’m not sure I blame you,” Stiles replied. It had been over a week since their confrontation in the secret passage, and Stiles had made sure to stay away from him since then. Stiles had been trying to focus on his upcoming graduation the next week, not Derek Hale and his mysterious behavior and veiled threats.

“What did he do to you?” Cora asked, much more interested than Stiles thought necessary. 

“Nothing,” Stiles said, shaking his head. “Why do you hate him?”

Cora sighed in an overly aggrieved manner, her hat bouncing slightly with the rise and fall of her shoulders. She was wearing some complicated tan feather outfit that Stiles thought made her look sort of like a chicken. “He’s awful. I’m never speaking to him again. As soon as I graduate, I’m moving out, and I’m going to do whatever I want. Women have the right to vote now, we are independent beings. I don’t need my brother telling me what to do.” She jutted her chin defiantly and crossed her arms.

“What did he do?”

“He’s _demanding_ that I go to college! I don’t _want_ to go to college. I want to be a jazz singer. I just want to sing here every night, maybe try and start singing in one of the clubs in Manhattan, get on Broadway one day!”

Stiles stared at Cora incredulously. “You’re mad because he wants you to go to college? I’d give _anything_ if I could go to college.”

“Why?”

“Because, it’s a privilege,” Stiles replied. “My dad doesn’t have the money to send me to college. The only reason I go to that prep school in Manhattan is because I got a scholarship.”

“So, what are you going to do after you graduate?” she asked.

“I’ve got a job at the docks.”

“Oh, that sounds dreadful!” 

“Go to college, Cora. Don’t throw that away. Derek obviously loves you, and just wants a better life for you.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Cora said petulantly, then groaned. “This would not be a problem if Laura was here.”

Stiles’ ears perked up at that. Laura. That name again. “Laura?” he asked.

“My sister.”

“Where is she?”

Cora frowned, and Stiles noticed just how sad she looked. “She was killed, a few months ago.”

_Laura, murder._ Laura, Cora and Derek’s sister, was murdered. What if Derek…did Stiles really think he was capable of killing his own sister?

Cora suddenly scooted out of the booth. “Come on, dance with me.” As Cora dragged Stiles across the dance floor, he found Derek watching him intently.

*

Stiles should have felt bad about it, but he really didn’t. Illegally using his dad’s access to police files was wrong, he knew that, and his dad would be extremely disappointed if he knew what Stiles was up to. But it was just so easy to slip into the station and nick the file he needed. 

When Stiles got home, he spread the contents out on the kitchen table and started reading. 

Laura Hale, aged 26, found murdered near her home in Brooklyn Heights. She had been cut in half at the waist with an unidentified weapon. The strange thing, according to the report, was that one half of her body was found near her home, the other in an alley in Flatbush. Stiles recognized the address as only a few blocks from the Sour Wolf. 

The investigator had attached his notes and observations in the file. Laura was killed in the same way as her mother, Talia Hale, who had been killed in 1918. That murder was also unsolved. The name Hale had Mob connections, through Peter Hale, Talia’s brother, a possible suspect. Both bodies disappeared from the morgue before a thorough examination by the coroner could be conducted, but his initial findings suggested that Laura had also had abrasions and scratches, suggesting a struggle prior to her murder. 

The list of suspects was non-existent, save Peter Hale, but the investigator didn’t seem to believe he was responsible for her death. At this point, the case was just another unsolved murder on a stack of other unsolved murders.

Stiles reread the file multiple times that evening, his brain whirling. Maybe Derek didn’t kill his sister. More than likely, Derek was searching for his sister’s killer. 

Or at least that’s what Stiles hoped. He’d learned how to read people pretty well from his dad, had picked up some police intuition. His dad always told him to trust his gut. His gut was telling him that Derek was dangerous, and he definitely had the ability to kill, but deep down, Derek wasn’t a bad guy.

Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on Stiles’ part.

*

Stiles waited until late to show up at the Sour Wolf. Boyd opened the small grate, saw Stiles standing on the other side, and then opened the door. Stiles didn’t even have to give a password anymore.

“You do know we’re technically closed for the night,” Boyd said as Stiles slipped inside. 

“I need to talk to Derek.”

“He’s behind the bar as usual.” Stiles clapped Boyd on the shoulder as he passed.

Derek was alone behind the bar, drying freshly washed teacups with a towel. He looked up when Stiles dropped onto the stool across from him. “We’re closed.”

Stiles didn’t even respond. He just dropped the file on the counter between them. Derek eyed it warily.

“What’s that?”

“Your sister’s police file,” Stiles said. 

Derek looked up at him in surprise. “How did you get it?”

Stiles smirked. “Cop’s son. I have my ways.” He pushed it towards Derek and stood up. “This way, you have all the information.”

Stiles started to walk away, and Derek said, “Why?”

Stiles spun around and looked at Derek levelly. “Now you know where my loyalties lie.”

*

Stiles and Cora graduated on the same day, and there was a celebration at the Sour Wolf that Saturday night. Erica, Allison, and Isaac had hung banners reading, “Congrats Cora!” around the club, and even had hung a few that read, “Congrats Stiles and Scott!” Stiles couldn’t believe it when he entered the club. He was actually touched that they cared enough to include Stiles and Scott in their graduation celebrations.

“House special for the new graduates,” Allison said, smiling at Scott and Stiles when they finally elbowed their way to the bar. “Two Full Moons, on the house.”

“Thanks!” Stiles said as she slid the drinks across the bar. The drinks were gin based, with hints of fruit. “Mmm, these are delicious.”

“Derek’s creation,” Allison said. “All your drinks are on the house tonight. Just try not to get too drunk.” She laughed as she turned to other customers. 

Scott and Stiles danced with Lydia while Cora sang a short set, but then the band played so Cora could enjoy herself. Stiles ended up dancing a quickstep with Lydia, and failing at it miserably. She laughed and tried to teach him how to do it, but it was much more difficult than the Charleston, which he was barely passable at.

“How do you have two left feet?” Lydia asked, laughing as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “You’ve been dancing here for months.”

“Some people are gifted,” he said, “and some people should just sit on the sidelines and watch the gifted people.” He grinned. 

“Maybe I should teach you a waltz or one of the slower dances,” she said. They were doing a simple Charleston step, the only thing he knew. “I think they may be easier to grasp.”

“Lydia, everything is easy for you.” She just smiled.

When the song ended, Stiles made his way back to the bar. The middle of the bar was mostly empty, and Stiles didn’t pretend he wasn’t happy about that. He smiled widely when he sat at the bar across from Derek. He blamed it on the alcohol; he’d barely spoken to Derek in the last few weeks.

“I graduated this morning,” Stiles said stupidly.

“I think the banners gave that away.”

“Aren’t you gonna congratulate me or something?” 

“Congratulations on finishing high school, just like everyone else. You should be so proud,” Derek said sarcastically.

Stiles pursed his lips. “Are you always so cynical? I went to a good school, I’ll have you know. It wasn’t easy. I’m actually pretty smart.” Derek raised an eyebrow. “I was valedictorian.”

“Really?” Derek asked, and he seemed genuinely impressed. “I never would have guessed.”

“Thanks,” Stiles replied flatly.

“Generally valedictorians don’t waste their time every night at a gin mill.” Derek put a cup on the counter and started mixing a drink.

“Doesn’t matter that I’m valedictorian,” Stiles said, idly picking at the marred wooden counter. “Ain’t getting me nowhere. Can’t afford college, I’ll just be another poor sap slaving away day after day for just enough dough to feed myself.”

Derek slid a drink across the counter. Stiles looked at it. “What’s this?”

“My own special recipe. Try it.”

“It’s not going to kill me, is it?” Derek rolled his eyes, and Stiles grinned. He lifted the teacup and sipped at it tentatively. The mixture was sweet, but slightly sour, a combination of pleasant flavors on his tongue. Stiles hummed contently and took another sip. “Oh, this is the bee’s knees! This is the best drink I’ve ever tasted.”

Stiles looked up, and Derek was actually smiling. It wasn’t big, but it was there, and it made his face look completely different. Stiles took another sip to refrain from saying something stupid. 

“What’s it called?”

Derek shrugged. “Just made it up.”

Stiles set the cup on the counter. “You just made that up? For me?” Derek nodded, and Stiles felt his face grow warm. 

“I was thinking of calling it a Howling Wolf,” Derek said. 

“What’s with you and all the wolf-themed stuff?” Stiles said. Derek just shrugged again.

*

Stiles had been in Cora’s dressing room, playing poker with her, Isaac, Scott, and Lydia for the last few hours. His buzz had worn off, and he was hungry and thirsty. Everyone had already left, Scott leaving with Isaac so that Stiles had to walk home alone. But Stiles thought Isaac was pretty neat, so he couldn’t be too mad at Scott.

Stiles crossed the empty club, surprised at hearing soft pianos coming from the radio. It was such a shift from what the club usually played. Stiles found it relaxing after the din of brass, percussion, and people’s voices. It was like a soft sigh in the night.

The lights were off, just a single lamp lit behind the bar. It gave the entire room a soft, warm glow, made the room seem smaller somehow. Derek was standing behind the bar, cleaning. “What are you still doing here?” he asked when he noticed Stiles.

“I was playing cards with the others,” he said distractedly. 

“Where’s Scott?” Derek asked.

Stiles frowned. “Just left with Isaac. Boyd walked Cora home, and Erica, Allison, and Lydia left awhile ago.”

“Then why are you still here?”

Stiles shrugged. “Didn’t really feel like going home.” He noticed the soft music again, and asked, “You like this kind of music?”

Derek nodded. “Yeah. I don’t much care for jazz.”

“My mom used to listen to this stuff. She loved Verdi and Bach. She played the piano beautifully.” Stiles smiled at the memory. 

Derek grabbed two cups and set them down on the bar, then crouched down and pulled an unmarked bottle from a bottom shelf. He poured scotch into Stiles’ cup, and poured liquid from the unmarked bottle into his own cup. Derek set the bottle on the counter behind him, then pushed Stiles’ cup across the mahogany with the back of his fingers. 

Stiles picked it up and sipped, pulling a face that made the corner of Derek’s mouth twitch. He watched Stiles from over the rim of his cup as he took a sip. “I’ve never seen you drink before,” Stiles said.

“I don’t drink often,” Derek replied. 

“What kind of liquor is that?” Stiles pointed to the bottle behind him. It smelled different than the alcohol he had grown accustomed to.

“The expensive kind.” Derek tapped the side of Stiles’ cup. “That’s not cheap either.” Stiles started to get nervous, trying to figure out how much money he had in his pocket. “I’m not going to make you pay for it,” Derek said, looking at Stiles like he was an idiot. “Consider it a gift.”

“I would have preferred one of those drinks you made special for me earlier,” Stiles muttered. Derek smiled.

They finished their cups, the music stopped and leaving them in silence. Then Stiles reluctantly got off the stool. He didn’t want to leave, didn’t want to go home to an empty apartment, wanted to be with people, his friends. He felt that this night should end with more pomp or circumstance, instead of with him going home alone with a dull buzz. But as he stood there in front of Derek, he wasn’t even sure what he was still doing there. It was after 2 a.m., and Derek didn’t even want him there.

Stiles turned to go, grabbing his cap and coat from the hook near the door on his way out.

“Congratulations, Stiles,” Derek said quietly into the silent speakeasy. “Be careful on your way home.”

Stiles glanced over his shoulder and nodded.

The street was empty at this late hour, the streetlamps providing long, golden stripes of light in between the darkness. The early summer air was still cool, but his skin felt flush from the alcohol. When Stiles turned a corner, he glanced behind him. He thought he heard something, had an odd feeling against his skin, like he was being followed. He finally saw a cab and hailed it, glad to be away from whatever was out there. He was being paranoid; it was probably just the alcohol, but still.

When he got to his building fifteen minutes later, he paid the cab driver and scanned his surroundings. That feeling was still there, like a prickling right under his skin, like he was being watched. He ran up the four flights of stairs, turning all the locks on the door when he was inside. Stiles walked over to the window, pulled back the curtain, and glanced down into the street. He swore, for just a second, that he saw a flash of red. But then it was gone, and Stiles was looking down at nothing but an empty street.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles was in the kitchen, fixing himself a sandwich, when he heard the knock on the door. He opened it just a crack to peer through, leaving the chain in place. He was surprised to find Cora on the other side. He closed it and unhooked the chain, then opened the door wide.

“Cora, what are you doing here?” Stiles asked as she swept inside. She wore a simple yellow day dress with matching hat and gloves. “How did you even know where to find me?”

Cora looked at him like he was the biggest idiot on earth. “Derek?” she said like it was obvious. Stiles nodded, finding the idea that Cora and Derek talked about him slightly unnerving. 

“Um, can I offer you something? A cup of tea or coffee?” Stiles asked awkwardly. He’d never had anyone other than Scott in his home before, and now that someone like Cora was there, he wasn’t quite sure what to do. He suddenly felt self-conscious about everything; he probably would have felt this way the night Derek was here if he hadn’t been shaken up and in pain.

“Relax, Stiles,” Cora said with a smile. “Why are you nervous?”

He shrugged and blushed. “I’m sure this isn’t as nice as you’re used to.”

Cora waved one of her gloved hands dismissively. “Please, I don’t care. It’s a charming little apartment.”

He snorted as he walked back into the kitchen. “It’s really not, but thanks. Derek must be proud that those finishing school lessons are paying off.”

“I’m being sincere. You have nothing to be ashamed of.” 

Stiles picked up his sandwich from the plate on the counter and took a bite. “Did you want some tea or coffee?”

Cora shook her head and sat in one of the chairs. Stiles leaned back against the counter and watched her as he ate. “While I am happy to see your face, I’m still not quite sure what you’re doing here.”

“I’ve missed you, Stiles,” Cora said. “I haven’t seen you since graduation. Did we offend you? I thought including you in the party would make you feel more comfortable. Scott’s been around, but he’s just not you.”

Stiles shrugged and swallowed the bite of food in his mouth. “Been working. They make me work half the week at night, doing inventory. I’ve just been so tired.”

“What night are you off this week?” Cora asked. 

“I have the weekend off,” Stiles replied. 

Cora smiled. “Good. Then I don’t have to change my plans.” She stood up. “I’m taking you shopping.”

“Huh? Why?” He shoved the last bit of sandwich in his mouth.

“Because, Friday night you are escorting me to a Broadway show. My treat, and I won’t take no for an answer.” The expression she gave him left no room for argument. “And your current wardrobe isn’t quite appropriate for that.”

“Cora, I can’t afford a new suit,” Stiles protested. “I’m trying to save up to move out, but I barely have enough money to give to my dad to help pay the bills.”

“I know that,” Cora said. “Also my treat.”

Stiles shook his head. “Cora, I can’t allow you to do that. It’s not right.”

Cora rolled her eyes. “I don’t care what’s right. I want to do it. I want you to take me to a play, and I want you to look nice. Don’t question it, Stiles. Just come along, and enjoy the fact that I’m rich.” She smiled.

“Don’t you mean Derek is rich?” Stiles teased.

Cora shrugged. “He smuggles liquor, I reap the benefits,” she said with a grin.

Cora took him into Manhattan, to a tailor’s shop on Fifth Avenue. Stiles had never been to Manhattan, had never had a reason to take the ferry across the river. Everything was so nice, expensive, and classy. Stiles knew why he needed new clothes to go to the theater. He felt like he needed new clothes just to cross the ferry.

“I’ll pay you back,” Stiles said as the tailor fitted him for his new suit. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Cora said absently as she flipped through a magazine. 

He’d never owned a tailor-made suit before. The one suit he had was too big in places, and too short in the legs after his last growth spurt. But it was all he had, and his dad hadn’t the money for a new one. But this. Stiles looked in the mirror as the tailor made measurements and adjustments. Even halfway finished and covered in tape, Stiles could see a marked difference. The suit was a deep indigo, and fit against his thin frame perfectly. The pants molded around his waist, the fly the perfect length so that it wasn’t too long like in his old suit. The pant legs were fitted to his legs so they didn’t look like he was drowning in cloth. The vest fit like a glove, and the jacket narrowed at the waist and expanded at the shoulders like a second skin.

“Wow,” Cora said when she looked up. “Who knew you could look so debonair? You’re the cat’s meow, Stiles. The girls won’t be able to keep away.” Stiles blushed and looked at his feet.

*

Allison, Lydia, Isaac, and Scott accompanied Stiles and Cora on Friday night. He wore his new suit, with a new matching cap; Scott also sported a new suit similar to Isaac’s. The girls looked stunning in their dresses, an explosion of color, beads, and furs. Lydia went for a long, elegant red piece with a cinched waist, while Allison went for shorter pink beaded number with a drop waist, and Cora wore a nude dress with a sheer black beaded top layer that almost looked see-through at first glance. Before they went to the theater, they all met at a restaurant on 42nd street. There was a long line waiting to get in, but when Cora approached the host, he led them straight to a table. Stiles tried not to stare at the people around him, and after they passed a table in the middle of the restaurant, Cora leaned over and explained that the occupants were famous film stars.

Stiles felt slightly uncomfortable that Cora paid for him. He knew Cora’s family had plenty of money, but he believed the man should pay for everything. He leaned over and told her as much, and she threw her head back and laughed.

“Who knew you were so old-fashioned, Stiles?” she said, the rest of the table laughing good-naturedly. “I’ve told you, I’m an independent woman, and you are my friend. Besides, Isaac’s paying for Scott.” Scott and Isaac both blushed, and Stiles wanted to point out that there was a very different reason that Isaac was paying for Scott. 

As they walked down the sidewalk towards the New Amsterdam Theater after dinner, Lydia, who was being escorted by Isaac, leaned over and said, “I didn’t know you cleaned up so well. If Allison wasn’t in the picture, I might be inclined to make you mine.”

“See?” Cora whispered as they approached the theater. “Told you the girls wouldn’t be able to stay away.”

Stiles tried not to gape as they entered the theater. Everything was so grand – from tall ceilings to elegantly decorated rooms to people dressed in their finest. And the show itself! Dancing and singing and elaborate costumes. Stiles sat on the edge of his seat the entire time, enthralled by the story playing out in front of him.

During intermission, Stiles was standing in line at the bar, which served only water, coffee, and tea, when someone came up to him and spoke.

“Are you enjoying the show?” 

Stiles turned around and saw a man with dark glasses and a walking cane, holding on to the arm of an elegantly dressed dark-haired woman. The eyes of the foxfur around her neck were staring right at him, and he felt slightly sickened at the sight. The woman smiled, but there wasn’t much warmth in the expression.

“It’s wonderful,” Stiles responded. “You?”

“Very much so,” he said. “Have you seen a show here before?”

Stiles shook his head. “No. This is my first one.”

“Ah,” the man said with a fond smile, “I remember my first show, so long ago. There’s something magical about it, wouldn’t you say?”

“Um, sure,” Stiles replied. He thankfully reached the bar and ordered two waters for him and Cora. 

As he stepped away, the man said, “It was nice speaking with you, Mr…”

“Stilinski,” he answered. “Stiles Stilinski.”

“Mr. Stilinski. Hopefully we’ll meet again.” The man smiled in his direction, the woman watching him closely. They made Stiles’ skin crawl, so he hurried away.

After the show, the group walked down the street to Times Square. Stiles’ jaw dropped as he looked around. He’d lived in New York his whole life, but Brooklyn, the neighborhoods he frequented, was nothing like this. The buildings were so high, the lights so bright. The world moved faster here as car after car drove down the street, honking and zooming past. Hoards of people walked to and fro, dressed in their finest and laughing gaily. Stiles got a glimpse of what he life could be if things were different. 

But he wasn’t going to focus on that right now. He was standing in the middle of Times Square, the bright lights shining down on his face. This _was_ his life right now. Stiles followed his friends as they walked around, stopping for an ice cream at Allison’s suggestion.

Later, they went back across the ferry to Brooklyn, to the Sour Wolf. The moment Stiles stepped through the door, he smiled contently. It had been almost a month since he’d been there, and he couldn’t believe how much he had missed it. In an odd way, the place was starting to feel like home. 

Lydia dragged him on the dance floor, and he danced between her and Allison. The music was loud, the dance floor crowded, all the booths full. Isaac and Scott went to one of the side rooms, where various poker games were happening. Stiles snorted at the idea of Scott playing poker.

Soon, he extracted himself from Lydia and Allison and started pushing his way through the crowd. Allison and Lydia just started dancing with each other, holding each other tightly with Lydia’s head on Allison’s shoulder.

Erica and Derek were working the bar, so Stiles found an empty stool on the end of Derek’s side. Derek waited until the bar had cleared before approaching him. He set a drink down in front of Stiles.

“Miss me?” Stiles asked, smiling as he lifted the cup. It was his drink, the one from graduation night. It was sweet and sour and perfect.

“Who are you again?” Derek teased lightly.

“You couldn’t have forgotten me that easily,” Stiles said. “You remembered my drink.” Derek didn’t say anything, but his gaze never left Stiles. Derek took the orders of a few patrons who showed up then, and Stiles finished the drink as he watched Derek work. When he’d finished with those customers, Derek returned to Stiles. “Your sister took me to the theater tonight. To Broadway and Times Square.” Stiles grinned.

“She told me.”

“It was the bee’s knees!” Stiles exclaimed. “So many people! And the lights! And the stores!”

“You’re easily impressed,” Derek said.

Stiles scowled. “I think even you would have been tempted to crack a smile or have fun if you’d have been there.”

“What show did you see?”

“The _Ziegfeld Follies_! It was the best. Funny, and the costumes! And the Ziegfeld girls.”

“I saw a show of theirs once, a few years ago. I enjoyed it.”

“Applesauce! You can enjoy something,” Stiles joked with a grin. Derek rolled his eyes, but Stile saw the corner of his mouth quirk.

Stiles sat at the bar until Scott was ready to leave. He settled his tab with Derek, and as Derek took his money, he said, “Nice suit, by the way.” Stiles stared at Derek’s back as Derek went over and put his money in the register.

*

Derek nodded at Peter’s secretary before opening the door and entering his office. Peter was on the telephone, and held up a finger as Derek took the seat across from him.

“You tell that asshole that I will get what I want, or I will rip his face off.” Peter paused, and then he let out a cruel laugh. “Then neither of you know me very well.” Peter slammed the phone down and ran a hand through his hair. “No matter what you do, there are some people who don’t understand the concept of respect. But what can you do?” Slowly, a smile spread across his face. 

Derek just stared at him boredly. He was tired and didn’t feel like entertaining Peter’s bullshit today.

“You need to learn to lighten up,” Peter said. “Go out on the town, go on a date, get fucked, _something_. You’re too serious all the time, Derek.” Peter shook his head and gave Derek a deprecating look. “A little fun never hurt anyone.”

“Were you ever going to tell me about Laura?” Derek blurted. He listened to Peter’s heartbeat, focused his senses entirely on him. He had to give it to his uncle; he barely flinched.

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

“I barely looked at Laura’s body when I buried her upstate,” Derek said. He barely remembered being up there, barely remembered hiding Laura’s body in the back of a truck so he could bury her in the middle of the woods where she belonged. He had been so overcome with grief that night as he dug her grave, tears obscuring his eyes. He could still feel his hands burning from the wolfsbane he placed around her. “Were you planning on telling me about the scratches?”

The flicker of surprise on Peter’s face was so quick that a man with lesser senses wouldn’t have caught it. Derek smirked complacently. 

“It’s nothing,” Peter said. “Could have been anything.”

“Or another werewolf!” Derek exclaimed. “I’ve been going after werewolf hunters because _you_ said it was a hunter attack.”

“Derek, you know as well as I do that she was cut in half, which is a hunter trademark. Another werewolf would never do something like that.”

“Unless they were covering their tracks.” Derek felt a wave of fury course through him, and his eyes flashed red. “You used me to carry out your vendetta against the hunters under the guise of searching for my sister’s killer!”

“So, you killed a few hunters,” Peter exclaimed. “Who cares? They needed to be taken care of. For all we know, hunters did kill Laura.”

Derek stood up suddenly. “I will _not_ be used, Peter. I will not be jerked around doing your bidding. I will find Laura’s killer whether you want to or not.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Derek, sit down.” Peter rolled his head around in aggravation. “And they call me the dramatic one.” Derek sat back down rigidly. “How did you find out about the scratches on Laura’s body? That’s not public knowledge.” Peter tapped his chin. “Let me think, who could do that for you? Mr. Stilinski, perhaps?”

Derek remained silent. He was so angry, it was taking everything he had not to leap across the desk and rip Peter’s throat out.

“Don’t you think it’s kind of strange how Stiles just _happens_ to bring you the police file on your sister? Why would he do that?” Peter’s gaze pierced into Derek, and Derek tried to resist the implication of his words. “What interest would he have in _your_ dead sister?”

“There was no ulterior motive to what Stiles did,” Derek replied.

Peter studied Derek in his calculating way, shaking his head. “Oh, Mr. Stilinski has you completely wrapped around his finger, doesn’t he?”

“Stiles isn’t the problem,” Derek snapped. 

Peter watched him for another few moments, then shrugged. “Perhaps I am too paranoid, a trait I believed we both shared. Alas.” Peter reached into a drawer and dropped a file in front of Derek. “I need you to take care of two things for me.”

Derek shook his head. “Fuck no. Not after this. I’m done.” Derek got up and glared down at Peter, wolfed out. 

“I suggest you rethink that statement, Derek,” Peter said. He remained calm although he was being growled at by a large, pissed off Alpha werewolf. “And for god’s sake, sit back down and pull your wolf back in. I plan on discussing this like rational, sophisticated beings, not savages.”

Derek returned to his seat, fully censured. His face shifted back to normal, but his eyes remained red. Peter sighed. 

“You forget, dear nephew, that your debt to me is quite large. Cora’s schooling and the speakeasy may only be monetary, which I could be willing to forget about, but you owe me much more than money for the Kate situation. And you have not paid that debt _quite_ yet, Derek.” Peter grinned evilly. “And without me, how do you expect to send Cora to college? Surely you won’t be able to afford the tuition to the private school she has chosen.”

Derek felt his claws digging into his palms, tried to focus on the pain as they pierced his skin. He was seething with rage.

“I don’t want your fucking money,” Derek said. “And I’ve more than paid my debt to you.”

“Have you now?” Peter leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I decide when that debt is paid, and what I did for you was not easy, and you knew it came with a cost.”

“I didn’t ask you to take care of that situation,” Derek spat.

“Would you rather be rotting in a jail cell?” Peter asked. “Or have already visited the electric chair? Just because you are tired of the arrangement doesn’t excuse you from it.”

“What if I refuse?” Derek challenged.

Peter sneered. “You’re not that stupid.” He sat back in his chair and narrowed his eyes, his face dropping all pretense. “If you refuse, I will track down every member of your Pack and kill them one by one, slowly, starting with Mr. Stilinski.”

Derek felt like he’d been kicked in the chest, but he remained stoic in the face of Peter, even though he knew he’d been beaten. He was trapped; there was no way to get out of this situation. One more reason for Derek to rue the day Kate Argent ever stepped into his life.

“Do you understand, Derek?” Peter said, his eyes flashing ice blue. “Because the next time we have this conversation, it will not end as pleasantly.”

Derek grabbed the folder and stormed out of Peter’s office, slamming the door behind him.

*

“You’re in a foul mood tonight,” Chris said. He raised the cigarette to his lips and inhaled. “What the fuck crawled up your ass and died?”

“Fuck off,” Derek snapped. 

“Taking it out on me isn’t going to get you anywhere,” Chris said. He flicked his cigarette to the ground and helped Derek load the crates into the truck. “Allison told me about Cora’s big night on the town. How much did that cost you?” Derek slammed a crate down, jostling the bottles loudly. “You know, you could always tell Cora that you’re not made of money.”

“I don’t want her to have to worry about things,” Derek said, carrying two other crates over to the truck.

“You spoil her,” Chris said, sliding his crate in behind Derek’s. “Telling her no occasionally won’t make her hate you. And throwing money at her isn’t going to bring Laura and your folks back.” Derek straightened and glared at Chris. “It ain’t none of my business, but having to sell three times as much hooch as usual because your baby sister wanted to go out and have fun don’t seem right.”

“When I want parenting advice from you, I’ll ask,” Derek said, walking back over to the crates. After he loaded the ones he carried, he asked, “Did you know your dad is back in town?”

Chris cursed as he shoved the crate in the truck. “Are you sure?”

“Peter told me.”

“Let me ask that again. Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Fuck.” Chris ran a hand over his face and lit another cigarette. He took a deep drag and then exhaled it slowly. “Keep me updated on that situation, okay?” Derek nodded.

After they finished loading the truck, Chris got in, but Derek stayed on the pavement. “You not coming?”

“Got some business to take care of.”

“Peter?” Derek nodded. “Need some help?” 

Derek eyed Chris carefully, and then said, “You sure?”

“Hell yeah!” Chris jumped out of the truck eagerly. “What you got?”

“He wants me to intercept a shipment of alcohol coming down from Buffalo. Some minor bootlegger who wants to sell in Manhattan. Peter wants the alcohol.”

They dropped the truck off at the warehouse, and then Derek drove them out of the city, to the road leading down from Buffalo. He pulled the car off the road and waited until they heard automobiles approaching. Derek got out of the car, and Chris pulled out his gun. 

As the first truck in the caravan drove by, Chris aimed his gun and fired, shooting out the window. The truck swerved and ran off the road. Derek and Chris watched, hidden in the trees, as the driver got out and the other vehicle stopped. 

“What the fuck you stopped for?” the men in the second truck yelled.

“Got fucking shot at!” the driver yelled. “Who the fuck is out there? Show your face!”

Derek went for the two men in the back first, knocking them unconscious before they even realized he was there. Then, he went for the driver, but instead of knocking him out like the other two, he pulled out his revolver and shot the man between the eyes.

“What the fuck was that?” Chris yelled, running out from the trees. 

“Peter,” Derek said, reholstering his gun. “Is it a problem?”

“No, but _fuck_ , Derek, you could warn a guy before you fucking blow some schmuck away! I gotta prepare for this shit.” Chris checked the other two men, still unconscious, before hopping into the second truck. “Following you.”

Derek drove the truck to one of Peter’s warehouses a few miles away. The foreman was expecting them, and Derek left the trucks with Peter’s men to unload while one of the workers drove him and Chris back to their car.

*

Derek wasn’t in the mood for, well, anything. He had glared at so many customers that they had stopped coming up to him, meaning Allison and Erica were swamped. He had resorted to helping mix their drinks. The music was loud and the club was packed. And Derek just wanted to punch everyone who walked by in the face.

Derek hadn’t been able to shake his ire towards Peter over the last few days. He’d sat on his balcony the night after the meeting, staring out at the Manhattan skyline as he tried to figure out a solution. He hated what he was. His mother always told him he was a predator, but not a killer, yet that was _exactly_ what he was. 

Peter had turned him into a killer. And there wasn’t a fucking thing he could do about it.

Derek begrudgingly admitted that Peter had saved his life more times that he liked. One time had been a time too many. First, with the money for the speakeasy. Laura didn’t know the strings that came with that money, or she’d never have agreed. But owing Peter a few favors was worth seeing his sisters out of the workhouses and off the streets. 

But then Kate had happened. The speakeasy had been going well, was a success, and his debt to Peter would have been paid off within a year tops. The men and women thought Derek was dashing and dangerous, and he had his pick of lovers every night. He slept with a few of the men and women who passed through, but both he and Laura mostly refrained from mixing business with pleasure. But Kate just kept showing up. She dressed like she was straight from Park Avenue, the classiest of all the women who passed through the speakeasy. And Derek fell for her charms quickly. 

But then Derek’s Prohi informant tipped him off, and Derek found Kate breaking into the speakeasy, armed to burn the place to the ground. With Laura and Cora upstairs. 

Derek went mad. He slaughtered her two back up hunters without a thought, but she got away. He tracked her to a warehouse in the meat packing district, where she was waiting for him with more hunters. She laughed as Derek picked them off, one by one, toying with him until they faced each other. Kate shot him with a wolfsbane bullet right before Derek ripped out her throat. But the bullet had already started to take effect, so the cops found him unconscious and surrounded by ten dead bodies.

When Derek came to, he was in a doctor’s office with Peter standing over him, smiling at him in his cold, calculating way. To this day, he’s not quite sure how Peter made all that go away. Surrounded by ten mutilated bodies, Derek knew he would have gotten the electric chair for sure.

But that didn’t mean Peter owned Derek, though, apparently, Peter thought it did. He was still paying for that mistake five years later. He’s pretty sure he would never pay off that debt in Peter’s eyes; Derek was too good of a tool to give up.

To top off everything, Stiles was back at the speakeasy tonight. And he was wearing that fucking _suit_. Derek tried not to stare, but he couldn’t pull his eyes away from the way it hugged his body, the fabric pulling in all the right places. He found himself wondering what the material would feel like beneath his fingertips, what that jacket would look like crumpled on the floor.

But those thoughts were _dangerous_. Derek had already been stupid enough; he’d realized that when Peter threatened Stiles. Peter’s declaration had been two-fold: Derek knew he would kill his Pack without a second thought, and Peter made it known that he was aware of Derek’s interest in Stiles. Which put Stiles in a very dangerous place he didn’t even know about.

Derek stared around at his Pack. Erica flirting with an entire corner of the bar, Allison smiling as she slid a drink across the counter, Lydia dancing with a regular patron, Boyd sitting by the door keeping watch on everything, Isaac playing the piano up on stage, and Cora singing at the microphone. He had to protect them, and if that meant killing people for Peter every few months, then he would do it. He would do anything to protect the Pack he had left.

The night went on, Derek continuing to glower at customers and stare at Stiles, who was dancing an inelegant Charleston. His eyes watched the way a dark-haired girl’s hands ran over Stiles’ back and then over his ass, the way a redhead pulled him close and ran her hands through his hair. Derek stared in surprise as a man danced up behind Stiles, and then watched hungrily as the man settled his hands low on Stiles’ hips, his lips brushing Stiles’ ear as he whispered something to him. He felt a low growl start in his chest at the sight of another man touching Stiles.

Derek forced his eyes away, knew that it didn’t matter. It was too dangerous, and he still wasn’t sure he could trust Stiles. Or if Stiles should trust him.

Later, Derek noticed a small commotion out of the corner of his eye, mainly because he was still watching Stiles. Who had been in a booth, talking rather intimately with that same guy for the past hour. Derek had tried to tamp down his wolf as the man brushed his fingers through Stiles’ hair, slid his hand up his thigh, pressed him against the back of the booth as he kissed him. But now Stiles was getting out of the booth, struggling a bit. Derek was pretty sure Stiles was drunk, but the guy also had grabbed Stiles’ wrist and yanked him back down.

“Let me go!” Stiles exclaimed, pushing the guy off him as he got out of the booth. The guy made to follow Stiles, but Stiles turned around and glared. “Fuck off, asshole.”

“Fuck you, you fucking little piker. You’re nothing but Greenpoint trash anyway.” 

Derek could feel Stiles’ hurt, embarrassment, anger, and disorientation all the way across the room. He stumbled as he walked through the crowd, and Derek quickly crossed to him. Gently, he took Stiles’ arm and guided him through the people.

“Hey, I told you to – oh,” Stiles said, surprised as he looked up at Derek with glazed eyes. They were wide and _right there_ , and Derek forced himself not to get lost in them. “It’s you.”

“It’s me.” 

Stiles leaned his weight onto Derek, and Derek put an arm around his waist as he led them through the club, into Cora’s dressing room, and to the secret passage in the back corner. 

“Watch your step,” Derek said as he navigated his way up the stairs, his eyes able to see even in the pitch black. 

Stiles’ body was warm and solid against his own, and Derek felt Stiles’ heartbeat push into him from the top of his head to the tips of his toes with every pulse. Stiles lay his head on Derek’s shoulder, and it lolled around against him. Derek could smell the alcohol on him, and the sweat, mixing sourly with resignation and loneliness. It didn’t smell right on his skin; Stiles should smell sweet like excitement. Derek knew Stiles should smell like sunshine, and right now it felt like he had been obscured by clouds.

“Where are we going?” Stiles asked. “Wait, I told you I didn’t want to! I’ll scream, I’ll punch you in the nuts!” Derek felt the uptick in Stiles’ heart, those same beginning notes of panic he’d felt that day in his office.

“Stiles, it’s me, Derek,” he said softly. “You’re safe.”

“Oh,” Stiles said. “I thought you were that guy. He’s not a nice guy,” Stiles rambled. “He called me trash, and maybe he was right. I barely have enough money to take the subway to work most days.”

“Being poor doesn’t make you trash,” Derek said as he opened the door, which lead into a private lounge on the second story of the theater. They never used it, which made it the perfect place for Stiles to sleep off his drunk. 

Stiles turned to Derek suddenly. “You should beat him up for me!” Stiles nodded, but his head ended up just moving around uncontrollably. “Like Vincenzo. I should just carry you around with me, and you can keep all the people away. Just glare at them, and they’d leave me alone.”

Derek helped Stiles lay down on the couch. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t come back,” Derek promised. “Lay down. You’re drunk.”

“I’m very drunk,” Stiles said. “I don’t get drunk. But that guy, he just kept buying me drinks. And he was nice, at first. And cute.” Derek left Stiles on the couch and went over to get a blanket from a closet. “Scott has Isaac, and they’re dating now, and I just wanted someone.”

Derek stopped and looked down at Stiles on the couch. Stiles was on his back with his eyes closed, his face turned towards Derek. His hair was flat against his head, his suit wrinkled. His hands were resting by his sides, one of the palms facing up. Derek could see the blisters, the open sores covering his hands. Stiles opened his eyes then, and Derek felt a lurch in his chest.

“Are you ever lonely, Derek?” Stiles asked. 

Derek spread the blanket over Stiles. “All the time,” he replied as he took off Stiles’ shoes. 

“I hate my job,” Stiles said suddenly. “I hate everything about my life.”

“Me, too,” Derek said. He ran a hand over Stiles’ hair, and Stiles pressed into his touch, smiling. 

“You’re not as mean as you act,” Stiles said. He opened his eyes again, and Derek stared down at him, his fingers threading into his hair of their own accord. The strands were soft against his touch. “You’re nice. But I won’t tell anyone. It’ll be our little secret.” Stiles closed his eyes again.

Derek walked to the door, and Stiles asked, “You’re not leaving, are you?” His voice sounded so small, and Derek recognized in Stiles’ voice some of the same longing that he felt daily. 

He knew it was stupid, but he said, “No. I’m getting you a glass of water, but I’ll be back.”

“Okay.”

Derek returned with a glass of water and sat in a chair by the couch as Stiles slept. Derek went home after dawn, leaving two pain pills and a fresh glass of water on the table.

*

Derek and Chris walked into building, and two women led them through what appeared to be a generic office to an elevator. Chris smiled at them broadly, and one of them winked as Derek pulled the elevator gate shut.

When they stepped onto the sixth floor, they were immediately surrounded by half-naked women and men walking around freely. Chris eyed a busty woman standing by a window as they passed by.

They entered one of the smaller rooms branching off of a long hall. The room was full of people, mostly whores from the house, but Derek’s eyes quickly fell on their target.

“Hale! Argent! Bout fucking time you got here!”

“Finstock,” Derek said as he sat down in a chair. Finstock had two naked women in his lap, and the young man beside him was staring at the one in his lap, terrified. “Babysitting?”

Finstock groaned. “For fuck’s sake, Greenberg, they’re titties! They ain’t gonna bite you. Unless you bite them first!” He laughed, and Greenberg blushed. “He’s my newest recruit.”

“So, what,” Chris started, “You get a new Prohi and the first thing you do is bring him to a goddamn whorehouse?”

“Know a better way to break in a new agent?” Finstock asked, taking the glass of scotch a topless waitress offered him. She brought Chris and Derek one, too. 

“I have your money,” Derek said, pulling an envelope out of his pocket. He leaned forward and handed it Finstock. “A little extra for keeping that raid from happening last week.”

“Yeah, sure,” Finstock said, slipping the envelope inside his jacket. “I make more from you in a month than my actual fucking job. Ain’t gonna fuck that up.”

“Any news on future raids?”

“They’re not worried about you right now. They got their hands full with some businesses up in Queens. I’ll let you know if I hear anything new.”

“What do you know about Gerard Argent?” Derek asked. Chris glanced at him, and Finstock looked between them curiously.

“Not much. Heard the name, know he’s some big shot who’s coming in and trying to take down the mob bosses. Brought his own men with him.” Derek shared a look with Chris. “Why? What’s his deal?”

“Peter will pay good money for any information you can get on him,” Derek said. “If you’re interested.”

“Fuck, Hale, I’m always interested in money. I’ll see what I can find out.”

Derek looked over at Chris, who now had two women of his own in his lap. He raised an eyebrow when Chris caught his eyes. 

“Looking ain’t cheating, okay?” Chris said. “Erica can’t expect me to come into a place like this and not enjoy the show.” 

“We should really be going,” Derek said, about to get up, but two hands pushed him back into the chair. He snapped his eyes up and found a handsome guy looking down at him. He was around Derek’s age, with light hair, blue eyes, and sharp features.

“Stay awhile,” Finstock said. “I took the liberty of making arrangements for your interests, as well as Argent’s.”

“No, we really shouldn’t,” Derek said as the man ran his hands down Derek’s arms, then against his neck and through his hair. Derek’s eyes fluttered closed, his cock starting to harden.

“God, Derek, get your fucking dick sucked. World ain’t gonna end if you get fucked,” Chris said as he watched three women perform an impromptu strip show. 

The man slowly came around the chair and grabbed Derek’s hand. Derek allowed the man to lead him towards another room.

“Way to go, Derek!” Chris and Finstock called after him. He flipped them off as he exited the room.

The man pushed Derek back onto a bed, and immediately dropped between Derek’s legs and pulled out his cock. Derek leaned back, his hands fisting the blanket, as he closed his eyes and concentrated on the warm feel of the man’s talented mouth. He pushed everything else out of his head, focusing solely on the whore between his legs.

“Do you want to fuck me?” the man asked, pulling off and sucking on Derek’s balls. Derek licked his lips as he watched the guy stand up and push off the small shorts he was wearing. Derek stood up, walked around behind the man, and wrapped his hand around the guy’s neck to bend him over the bed. The guy handed him a jar of lubricant, and Derek kept his clothes on, just opening his fly a little wider as he slicked himself and then pushed inside the stranger. He squeezed his eyes shut, his fingers digging into the man’s hips, as he thrust over and over. He didn’t think of the man under him, didn’t think of touching or kissing or holding him afterwards. He focused on the feel of his cock, the warmth around him, the tightening of his balls until he felt himself nearing release. He pulled out and tugged on his cock a few times, coming on the man’s lower back. Then, Derek tucked himself back into his trousers and buttoned his fly, leaving the room without a word, the man still face down on the bed.

Derek found Chris where he left him and finally managed to pull him away from the two women, leaving Finstock to pay the bill.

*

The wind was cold coming off the river, even though it was late June. Derek found that even he was chilled as they waited for the boat to arrive with their latest shipment. 

“You sure this guy is reliable?” Derek asked.

Chris exhaled a stream of smoke through his nose. “How many fucking times do I have to tell you? Yes.” Chris took another drag from his cigarette. “Besides, this was your idea. You wanted to run more liquor.”

“I’m aware of that,” Derek said flatly. He needed money, and the last thing he wanted to do was ask Peter for more, so he and Chris had opened up another distillery upstate, and now they were taking in more shipments. 

“Sure you don’t want to go to Boston with me?” Chris asked. 

“Take Erica,” Derek said. “I don’t want to go to Boston. Plus, you know I’m no good at selling.”

“I haven’t taken Erica anywhere in awhile. Could be fun,” Chris said. He tossed his cigarette down and stomped it out. “I gotta take a piss.”

Derek watched the water for signs of the boat. One of Chris’ contacts had sworn the guy was legit, but Derek didn’t trust easily, and the word of a drug runner meant nothing to him. 

Derek heard something that sounded like a scream, and he ran around the corner of the warehouse. He found Chris dragging someone towards him, gun to his head. 

“Found this guy sneaking around,” Chris said. “Think we might have us a problem.” Chris yanked the guy’s head up, and Derek felt like he’d been kneed in the stomach. It was Stiles. “What should we do with him?” he asked, pressing the gun back against Stiles’ temple.

“Stiles, what the fuck are you doing here?” Derek yelled.

“Wait,” Chris said, leaning back and looking down at Stiles. “You know this kid?”

“That’s Stiles. He’s a friend of Cora’s, he hangs around the speakeasy.”

“ _This_ is Stiles?” Chris asked, eyes sweeping over him.

“Hey, don’t make it sound so much like an insult,” Stiles snapped. Chris tugged on his hair, jerking his head back. “Ouch, that hurts, you know.”

“What the fuck you doing snooping around the docks, huh?” Chris asked.

Derek narrowed his eyes, his stomach in knots. “Yeah, Stiles. What are you doing here?”

Stiles pushed at Chris, who just dug the barrel of his gun deeper against his skin. “Derek, can you please get this guy off of me? Fuck, what the hell does Erica see in you?”

Chris pulled the hammer back, and Derek yelled, “Enough! Chris!” He sighed as Chris put the gun away and let Stiles go. Stiles pushed Chris’ hands away, and stepped closer to Derek. “Stiles, answer the question.”

Stiles looked up at him, wide-eyed and shocked. “You still fucking think I’m a rat, don’t you?” Stiles shook his head, and Derek could feel the hurt tinting his anxiety. “I’m not a fucking rat; how many times do I have to tell you?”

“Then why the _fuck_ do you just keep showing up everywhere?” Derek exclaimed.

“I work here, asshole.” Stiles flicked his hand in Derek’s direction. “The better question is what the fuck _you_ are doing here.”

“You work here?” Derek asked, looking around. “At night? By yourself?”

“Can I just shoot him already?” Chris asked, irritated.

“Shut up,” Derek snapped. “Go watch for the boat.”

Chris grumbled as he walked back around the warehouse, leaving them alone. 

“Real charming,” Stiles drawled. “I can see where Allison gets it.”

“Are you here alone?”

“Why? Are you going to shoot me?” Stiles sighed.

“If I haven’t shot you already, what makes you think I’m going to shoot you now?” Derek asked.

“Well, there is a disturbing pattern of guns being pressed against my temple whenever you’re around,” Stiles replied. He rubbed the side of his head absently.

“So, you just happen to be at work. On the night I’m getting a shipment,” Derek said.

“Yes. I work here a few times a week,” Stiles explained. “I can show you my time card if you’d like. Look,” Stiles pulled a key to the dock gates and the warehouses from his pocket. “See? Ask Cora, she’s heard me talk about it.”

Derek sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Fine,” he finally said. 

“Can I help?” Stiles asked. “With the shipment?”

“I thought you were supposed to be working.” Stiles shrugged. “Well, since I’m obviously not going to get rid of you, the least I can do is make you work,” Derek said.

Stiles grinned, and Derek tried to ignore the way it made his stomach clench.

*

Stiles dragged himself out of bed at 5 a.m. He had to be at the docks at 6:30, and he barely had time to eat and brush his teeth before he had to go catch the subway. The dock workers were a mixed bag of men from all around New York. He found himself speaking Polish over lunch some days with some of the men, and others days, he sat with Scott. Between working and Scott hanging out with Isaac, Stiles rarely saw him, so Stiles looked forward to their lunches.

Since Stiles and Scott were the new guys, they got the shit jobs. They loaded all the worst shipments, heavy crates and boxes that left Stiles’ arms aching for days. By the end of the first week, Stiles’ hands were full of splinters, and covered in blistered and sores. They still hadn’t healed, and he knew that pretty soon, he’d have calloused hands like the men around him.

“Isaac wants to take us to the Bowery,” Scott whispered to Stiles as they were leaving work that afternoon. “Tonight.”

“Scott, I’m exhausted. I’m not interested in going to a club.”

“It’ll be fun,” Scott said. “Isaac said we’ve never seen a club like this. You _know_ the kinds of clubs they have in the Bowery.”

“Yes,” Stiles replied. “Fine, I’ll come along!”

Which is how Stiles found himself in the middle of a club later that night, surrounded by male prostitutes. Allison and Lydia had both dressed in suits, and with her fedora pulled low over her eyes, Allison looked like a man from afar. The club was mostly male, but Lydia and Allison weren’t the only women there. Stiles saw a group of women congregating at the end of the bar as he ordered a drink.

“Isn’t he scrumptious?” someone said behind him. Stiles found one of the women smiling at him. 

“Darling,” another said. Stiles looked more closely at them, and he realized with a start they were men. Men wearing white face powder with rouged cheeks, made up lips, and wigs. Two of them slipped on either side of Stiles, their arms around his waist.

“Whatever you need, sugar, we got you tonight,” one purred against his cheek.

“I just want to peel that expensive suit off that little body,” the other said. 

“Um,” Stiles said, unsure of what to do. “Thank you?”

They laughed, but it wasn’t cruel. One of them smiled at him, a real smile. “This your first time in the Bowery?”

“That obvious?” Stiles asked.

The other ran his hands through Stiles’ hair. “Virgin?” Stiles blushed, and the first man kissed Stiles on the cheek. “Have a good time, doll. If you need anything or have any questions, you come find us, okay?”

“Okay.” Stiles grabbed the tray of drinks he ordered, and the men waved as he walked away. Stiles found his friends around a table near the edge of the room, and sat the tray down as he took his chair.

“I saw you surrounded by the fairies,” Isaac grinned across the table as he took his drink. “That your type?”

“I don’t have a type,” Stiles answered honestly. “They were really nice.”

“They’re amazing,” Isaac said. He snapped his fingers as he took a drink, and a group of prostitutes came over to the table. Lydia and Allison giggled and sat in the laps of two men and started kissing each other, and Isaac started kissing Scott as a man sat down on the floor near his feet. A fourth man came over and sat at Stiles’ feet.

“Oh.”

Isaac pulled away from Scott, and smiled at Stiles. “When in Rome…” Isaac slid his fingers into the man at his side’s hair. “These whores are spectacular at using their mouths,” Isaac said as the man moved onto his knees and started unbuttoning his fly. Scott watched, shocked and eager, until Isaac lifted his face and started kissing him again. 

Stiles couldn’t pull his eyes away from the guy as he finished opening Isaac’s pants and then pulled his cock free. Stiles had never seen another man’s cock before, and he felt oddly disconnected as he watched the guy lower his head and slide his lips over the crown of Isaac’s pink dick. 

His attention was drawn away from Isaac when the guy at his feet moved between Stiles’ legs. “Oh, hi there.”

“Hi,” the guy said. He had dark hair and large, round eyes, and when he smiled, Stiles thought he looked young – too young. 

“How old are you?”

“How old do you want me to be?” the guy asked, starting to unbutton Stiles’ trousers. “Do you want me to be young and innocent, or do you want me to be older and experienced?” He slid his hands into Stiles’ pants, cupping him through his underwear. Stiles made a sound that was somewhere between a squeak and a moan. 

He flicked his eyes up, and he saw Lydia and Allison making out with the two guys they were sitting with, and Isaac and Scott were watching the other prostitute as he gave Isaac a blowjob. Stiles turned to the guy between his legs, rubbing his crotch slowly and deliberately. He was growing hard rather quickly.

“What’s your name?”

“Anything you want it to be,” the guy said.

“That must get really annoying,” Stiles said. “Can you answer questions, or is there like a rule against that?” The guy pushed his hand under the band on Stiles’ underwear and wrapped his hand around Stiles’ cock. Stiles’ eyes drifted shut as he unconsciously bucked into the guy’s hand, momentarily giving into the delicious sensation of having someone else’s hand around him. The guy stroked his cock, but something didn’t feel right about the whole situation. His eyes opened, and he looked around at his friends. Isaac and Scott were kissing, Isaac holding the man’s head down as his head bobbed, while Lydia and Allison had disappeared to the dance floor. 

“Stop,” Stiles said suddenly. The guy looked up at him in question. “I…This isn’t what I want.”

“Are you sure?” the guy asked, stroking Stiles a few more times. Stiles felt desire pooling low in his belly, and he ached to come at someone else’s touch, but after it happened, that would be the end of it. He’d still go to bed alone tonight, and wake up empty in the morning. Scott had Isaac, Allison and Lydia had each other, and Cora had Boyd. But Stiles had no one.

“I’m positive.” Stiles smiled in apology, and the boy just shrugged. “Make sure Isaac pays you. I don’t know, take the time you’d have spent with me to go on break or something.” The guy leaned forward and kissed Stiles gently before walking away.

“Couldn’t go through with it, Stiles?” Isaac asked after he was finished, his clothes righted again. “Do you want someone older? A girl?”

“No,” Stiles said. “He was fine, he was quite attractive, actually.”

Isaac shrugged. “Your loss, I guess.” 

Stiles sat back in his chair and looked around, downing his drink in one go.

*

Stiles was drunk. He was pretty sure he needed to stop drinking, but he couldn’t remember why. He was sitting on top of a car beside Scott and Isaac, Lydia and Allison in the cab below. The car was Lydia’s dad’s, which she borrowed whenever she went out. Lydia was driving down Fifth Avenue, which was nearly deserted at this late hour.

Stiles held on to the edge of the car, his fingers curling around the metal where Allison had rolled the window down. Scott and Isaac were talking beside him, but he had tuned them out. Lydia wasn’t driving fast, but the wind was blowing on his face, and from this high up, if he looked straight ahead, he felt like he was flying. Jazz music floated from the radio below, and he heard the soft sound of the girls laughing. 

He felt like a god. The moment held so much possibility, so much more than Stiles had ever expected from his life. This was better than dancing in the Sour Wolf, better than having a stranger intimately touch him.

This was total abandon; this was total freedom.

The lights of Fifth Avenue reflected off the hood of the car, the street lights illuminating their bodies before they were bathed again in darkness. At the hour, the city seemed quiet, its doors and windows shut up for the night as they drove through its streets like trespassers. They were the life in the city at that moment, and as Stiles looked into the night sky, he knew this was as good as his life was ever going to be.

Eventually, the boys crawled back into the car and they drove back to Brooklyn, to the Sour Wolf for a night cap. Stiles was mostly sober by this point, just a dull buzz numbing everything. The club was mostly empty, and Stiles immediately found a spot at the end of the bar.

“Don’t you have work in the morning?” Derek asked as he set a cup on the counter. Stiles glanced down at it. It wasn’t his usual drink; it was a steaming cup of coffee.

“Just what I needed,” Stiles hummed happily as he took a careful sip. Derek was cleaning up for the night, and Stiles drank the coffee in silence. “Isaac took us to the Bowery,” Stiles said when he was halfway through his cup. “You ever been?”

“Yes.”

“Have you been to the kind of club Isaac took us to?”

Derek glanced at him through the corner of his eyes. “Yes.”

“It was kind of strange,” Stiles found himself saying. “Isaac was just sitting there, getting his dick sucked while we watched. And then some guy just started touching me.” Stiles shook his head. He stared at the counter, picked at it with his nail. “Have you ever been with a prostitute?”

“Yes.”

Stiles looked up, and Derek was leaning against the back counter with his arms crossed. “Did you enjoy it?”

Derek nodded. “Yes.”

Stiles chewed on his lip, then said, “I wonder if there is something wrong with me.”

“Why?” Derek asked.

“Because I didn’t enjoy it. I told him to stop before he even got started.” 

“Why?” 

Stiles shrugged and tried to find the words. “I…I realized that even if I let him go down on me, that sure, I’d have my first blowjob and I’d be a man or whatever, but then I’d go home, and I’d still be alone, and I’d still have my same shitty life.” Stiles looked up and met Derek’s eyes. “I’d rather sit and talk to someone than fuck them and leave.”

“That’s the benefit of a prostitute,” Derek said, pushing off the counter and grabbing the coffee pot to refill Stiles’ cup, “you don’t have to deal with them after the sex.”

“Don’t you want more than just a quick fuck?”

“No.”

Stiles picked up the cup and sipped, unable to think of anything to say. To his surprise, Derek spoke again.

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting more,” Derek said softly. “That’s probably how it should be.”

“Then why isn’t it like that for you?”

Derek stared at him for a moment, then sighed. “Because I don’t have that luxury.” Stiles wasn’t sure what he meant, but he was surprised Derek had said even that much.

After he finished his drink, Stiles stood up. “Thanks for the coffee. I probably should get home and try to get some shut eye.”

As Stiles walked away, Derek called out. “Stiles.” He turned around, and Derek was staring at him with an unreadable look on his face. “How would you like a job?”

“Huh?” Stiles replied stupidly.

Derek’s mouth twitched. “How would you like to work for me, for the speakeasy?”

“Are you fucking with me?” Stiles asked.

“No.”

“Fuck yes. I’d love a job. Please, I’ll do anything to get off the docks.”

“Go home, get some sleep, and come by tomorrow. I’ll get you set up.”

Stiles left the speakeasy, feeling like _maybe_ his luck was about to change.

*

Stiles ironed his suit, hoping he looked crisp and professional. He wasn’t sure what Derek was going to have him doing, but he wanted to make sure he was dressed for whatever it was. When he entered Derek’s upstairs office in the Preserve, Derek glanced up from a stack of papers.

“You need clothes you don’t mind getting dirty,” Derek said. “And we probably should take you shopping for a new suit or two.” Stiles tried to hide his panic, because he knew how much the suit he was wearing cost, and there was no way he could afford two more. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”

“You can take it from my pay,” Stiles said. “I don’t expect you to buy my clothes.”

“We’ll deal with that when we get there,” Derek said. “Sit. I’ll outline what I expect you to do, and we’ll settle on a wage.”

There was no actual job opening at the speakeasy for Stiles to fill, so he knew Derek was just giving him whatever odd jobs he could think of. Stiles was going to wash dishes, bus tables, stock the liquor cabinets, sweep, mop, take out the garbage, and basically do anything else the others asked him.

It sounded like the best job ever. Anything was better than slaving away at the docks. Plus, Derek was paying him three times what he had been making at the docks.

“I wish I could pay you more,” Derek said, and he actually looked _apologetic_.

“Are you kidding? I can’t believe you’re paying me this much! I might actually be able to move into my own place now!”

“Well,” Derek started, suppressing a smile, “Maybe I am starting you out a tad too generously.”

“No!” Stiles said. “You’re paying me beans. Just beans. How can I live on that salary?” Stiles laughed, and Derek actually smiled. For some reason, the fact that he made Derek smile caused his pulse to quicken.

As Stiles was leaving the office, he asked, “Why are you doing this?”

Derek looked at him for a few moments, his gaze weighing heavily on Stiles, before he said, “Because I take care of my own.”

*

Working at the Sour Wolf was hard, strenuous work. The first night, Derek had Stiles busing tables. He wore an old pair of trousers and a button up that already had stains on it, which was lucky, because as he cleaned off one of the tables near the dance floor, a man swept his partner too wide, knocking her into the table. The drinks spilled on the front of Stiles’ shirt, covering him in red grenadine.

“Looking sharp, Stiles,” Erica said as he carried the tray full of dirty dishes towards the kitchen.

“I’m a walking drink advertisement,” Stiles joked. 

No matter how many tables he cleared, as soon as he turned back around, ten more cups would appear. People left cups at booths and all around the poker rooms, and even on the floor. By the end of the night, his feet hurt from walking around so much. But he actually had _fun_. The music was loud, and he found himself dancing around as he carefully stacked cups in the bucket. He watched at Cora’s set and at the people dancing, and Erica yelled random quips at him every time he passed her on his way to the kitchen.

As the week progressed, Derek put him on mop duty. After the patrons left, Stiles circled the club, overturning chairs and hanging them on the tables. Then, he mopped the floors. 

“People are pigs,” Stiles said as he pushed the mop across the sticky floor. He paused and scrubbed at something he couldn’t identify that was stuck to the tile. “I don’t even want to know.”

“I’ve seen worse clubs,” Derek said as he wiped down a counter. “Be glad you don’t have to clean the floors at a speak like Isaac took you to.”

Stiles shuddered at the thought. Derek turned the radio up as they cleaned. They were the only ones left behind, and the silence between them in the empty room felt comfortable. Stiles hummed the melody along with the song as he worked.

As they cleaned together the next night, the music once again a quiet background, Stiles asked, “Do you always stay this late?”

“Yep.”

“Why?” He leaned against his mop, stumbling a bit when it slid on the slick floor. Derek snorted.

“My place. No one else is gonna stick around and help me clean up.”

“Couldn’t you hire someone to do that for you?”

“I don’t trust anyone to close.”

“I could do it for you.” Derek eyed him suspiciously, and Stiles went back to his mop. He pushed it around angrily, hurt that Derek obviously still didn’t trust him. He didn’t say anything else to Derek that night, and left without saying goodbye.

A week after Stiles started working at the Sour Wolf, Isaac managed to get Scott a job there, too. Now, Stiles and Scott split cleaning duties. Stiles left Scott with the mopping, which he finished way quicker than Stiles ever did, and Stiles was at the large sink in the kitchen, washing dishes.

“Want some help?” Derek asked, rolling up his sleeves as he joined Stiles. 

“Seriously?” Stiles asked, elbow deep in suds. “Isn’t that what you pay me for?”

“Maybe I feel a little bad that you’re still here and Scott’s already left.” Derek turned on the water and started rinsing the stack of cups in the sink.

“That bastard,” Stiles said as he washed a teacup. “I think he rushed through the mopping. I blame Isaac.”

“Probably a correct assumption.” Derek shook off the cup and set it on a towel beside him. “So, do you usually wash the dishes?”

“Nope.” Derek picked up a fresh towel and started drying the dishes. “I put them away, but don’t wash.”

“Then I feel rather special,” Stiles joked, leaning into Derek and nudging him with his shoulder. “The boss has lowered himself to help the lowly kitchen workers.”

“I sometimes come down from my throne,” Derek responded.

Stiles slung his hands out of the water, flinging suds onto Derek. “Horsefeathers! Was that a joke?”

“Perhaps,” Derek said as he wiped suds from his shirt. There were still small, white bubbles in Derek’s stubble and hair, and clinging to his eyelashes. Stiles reached out and brushed his thumb across Derek’s jaw, wiping the soap away.

“I think you’re covered in suds,” Stiles said with a smile. Derek’s eyes were intense as they bore into him, and Stiles shifted uncomfortably. Hesitantly, he reached out and brushed the soap from Derek’s dark hair. “There’s some on your lashes. Be careful not to get it in your eye.” 

Derek rubbed his eyes carefully, and Stiles dunked his hands back in the water. They stood side by side in silence as Stiles washed cups and Derek rinsed and dried.

“I do trust you,” Derek said after awhile. “I consider you one of us.”

“Really?” Stiles asked quietly, his hands unmoving as he stared resolutely at the dishwater.

“Yes. I wouldn’t have hired you if I didn’t completely trust you.”

Stiles smiled to himself, feeling like he _finally_ found somewhere he belonged.

*

Stiles was walking home from the speakeasy. The summer night was warm, and he was tired, but happy. He loved his new job, he loved being at the speakeasy every night, and he loved being around his friends. 

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, whistling the jazz tune Cora had sung earlier, as he walked down the street. He was so absorbed in the melody that he never heard the footsteps coming.

Something large and hard hit him in the back of the head, and pain exploded inside his head as brightness burst behind his eyelids. 

He crumpled to the ground, the breath knocked out of him. He groaned and tried to move, but his head was pounding too badly. The sound of footsteps echoed off the pavement, and he tried to open his eyes, but the vision in his right eye was obscured by something. Stiles raised a hand to his eye and his fingers slid in something warm and liquid. Blood, he guessed. He tried to wipe it away while his good eye strained to see. A dark cloth covered his head, and when he tried to scream, something struck him again, and everything went black.

*

Stiles came to inside a tiny room. The surfaces were grimy, the walls dingy, the floor dirty. His head was pounding, and a deep ache had settled at the back of his skull. He tried to move, but found it impossible. He looked down and discovered he was bound to a chair. 

“He’s awake.”

Three men entered through a door on the other side of the room. There were dressed in nice suits, too nice to be cops. None of the cops Stiles knew dressed like that. Stiles struggled against the ropes, but it was futile. He was trapped.

“Stiles Stilinski,” the first man said. Stiles stared at him in confusion, wondering how the man knew his name. “I’ve been watching you for some time.” The man grabbed a chair and flipped it around, straddling it as he looked at Stiles. “You’ve been a _very_ naughty boy. What would your dad think if he knew his one and only son had been seen in whorehouses in the Bowery, had been frolicking around town with the family of a known Mob boss, and had given up his respectable job at the docks to mop floors at a gin mill?”

“He’d say you were full of shit because his son doesn’t frolic.”

One of the other two men reared back and smacked Stiles across the face, causing his mouth to bleed.

“I like you, Stiles. You have spirit. So, I’ll make you an offer. You give me Hale, I won’t kill you.”

Stiles spit in the guy’s face, blood and saliva sliding down his cheek. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his face before standing up and kicking the chair away. Stiles had to give it to himself; he didn’t even flinch. But then the man punched Stiles in the jaw, and Stiles saw stars as his head lolled around on his neck.

“Fine,” the man said, wrapping his hand around Stiles’ throat. Stiles gasped as the fingers tightened, cutting off his air. “You will help me take down Hale’s Pack, or I will kill your father.”

Stiles’ eyes grew wide, and he felt panic edging closer. “H-h,” Stiles stammered, unable to talk with the man’s fingers around his neck. The man let him go, and he gasped, sucking in deep lungfuls of air. “You won’t fucking touch my father!” he finally managed.

The man punched Stiles in the face again, leaving Stiles unable to open his left eye. He squinted at the man through his one good eye. “I know you’re Derek’s little wolf whore, but you _will_ help me bring down the Pack. You will give us all the information you have on them, who the Betas are, who Hale’s second is.” He leaned closer and said in a low voice, “You will help us pick them off one by one until the Alpha is nothing but a tree without its branches.” He straightened up and readjusted his jacket. “It’s your choice, Stiles. Your dad or the wolves.”

“Wolves?” Stiles asked, his face throbbing. His head felt like it was about to be split in two. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

The man looked at his two companions, and then he laughed. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” He leaned close, right in Stiles’ face, his breath sour and unpleasant. “Your boss is a werewolf.”

Stiles didn’t have time to react before a hand landed across his face, knocking him and the chair onto his side. Pain shot up from his shoulder and hip. He saw a man’s shoe with his good eye right before a swift blow struck him in the stomach. He struggled against his restraints to shield the blows, but he was helpless against the attack. A foot landed against his chin, knocking his head back and catching his tongue between his teeth. He tasted metallic warmth in his mouth as another blow landed to his stomach. Stiles howled in pain, everything in his body on fire, as another blow landed, this one to his back through the slats in the chair. He heaved and turned his head as best he could as he threw up. Vomit slid down his cheek and pooled beneath his head, his body heaving again. 

The blows came quickly now, backheadgroinbellyhead, and the stench of vomit and blood surrounded him. He steeled himself against the pain, trying to accept that he was about to die.

Stiles braced himself for the next blow, but it never came. He tried to open up his eyes, but blood was running in them and he could barely see. He heard muffled sounds, voices raised and angry, and then something that might have been considered a roar. He tilted his head and pain shot through his body, but he ignored it. He squinted his eye, trying to peer through the blood, but he couldn’t see anything; he just kept hearing growls resounding in the tiny room. Confused and disoriented, he attempted to call out, but instead he choked on his own blood, coughed, and vomited again. The world was spinning, quickly growing black. He distinctly heard a growl and then his name, and he thought briefly that he had seen a flash of red eyes and long, sharp teeth. 

_Werewolves_. 

As he closed his eyes, he thought of what the man said and knew he was hallucinating. Then he felt nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -if you are interested in gay culture in new york in the early 20th century, you should check out the first two chapters in george chauncey's book _gay new york_. it's a fascinating read!
> 
> -in _the crack up_ , f. scott fitzgerald's book of essays, he tells a story about how he rode on top of a cab down an empty fifth avenue. the whole essay was about the disillusionment he felt after the decline of the jazz age, but i don't remember anything about that essay except that one, single image. it's stayed with me for years, and it has become for me the ultimate symbol of the "jazz age" mentality. so, there's my love affair with fitzgerald's essays.


	4. Chapter 4

Derek ran a hand through his hair and let out a frustrated growl. He hated this part of the job. The tedious balancing of books, keeping up with the sale prices of various liquors, trying to figure out who to pay off this week. He stared at the ledger, trying to remember if he needed to pay the fire marshall this month, and if it was time to bribe his police contact again. Finstock was up to date, so at least he’d have the Prohis off his back for awhile. 

He was going through the overhead costs of the two distilleries up north and deciding that he and Chris needed to find cheaper glass bottles and labels when he heard an insistent knocking on his office door.

“Go away,” he growled, not in the mood to deal with anyone. He knew it wasn’t a member of the Pack, because they knew not to mess with Derek when he was going over the books. The door opened anyway, and Derek shot daggers at the timid head sticking through. Scott. “Isaac’s not here,” Derek snapped before turning back to his work.

“Um, I, uh, came to see you,” Scott said, stepping inside the room tentatively. Derek raised his eyes. The glower didn’t deter Scott, and Derek had to give it to the kid. “I think Stiles is missing.”

Derek’s stomach lurched, but he remained stoic. “What do you mean, missing? He’s probably just home sleeping.”

“No, that’s just it,” Scott said, coming into the room anxiously and dropping into the chair in front of the desk. He fidgeted, wringing his hands and bouncing his leg. Derek could smell the fear and worry wafting off him in waves. “I went by the apartment earlier, and he wasn’t there. His bed wasn’t slept in, and it didn’t even look like he’d been home.”

Derek sighed and tried to be rational, not get caught up in Scott’s frenzy. “Stiles is an adult. Maybe he met someone and went home with them.”

Scott actually snorted. “Stiles? Yeah, right. He’d never do something like that.” Derek hated that in the midst of this situation, that little bit of knowledge relieved him. Scott looked at Derek seriously. “I know you think I’m just some idiotic kid who’s overreacting, but I swear, something happened to Stiles. I know him, and this is not like him.” 

Derek leaned back in his chair. “What do you want me to do about it, Scott?”

Scott’s expression was one of indignation as he shot out of the chair. “Whatever it is _you people_ do!” he shouted. “Pay off someone, shoot someone, _I don’t care!_ Just please, find him.”

Derek eyed Scott carefully, somewhere between wanting to rip his face off and gaining respect for how much he genuinely cared about Stiles. Finally, Derek leaned forward and picked up the telephone ear piece. He flicked his eyes at Scott. “I’ll take care of it.” He told the switchboard operator he wanted to connect to Boyd, a clear dismissal to Scott. Scott hung around for a few moments while Derek listened to the phone connecting on the other end, and then he finally left the room.

“I need you at the office,” Derek said when Boyd answered. “Bring Isaac and Erica.” 

Derek tried to concentrate on work as he waited on the others, but it was futile. He tossed his pen down and shoved the ledgers away. He tried to remain rational, but he felt the beginnings of worry and dread building inside his chest. Stiles had been right beside him the night before, washing dishes and joking. _Flirting_ , Derek admitted to himself. He’d been flirting with Stiles. Which should have been more troubling than it was. Derek didn’t flirt. But he found himself more nights than not going out of his way to talk to Stiles, be near him, and had finally started allowing himself to joke and flirt.

The cold realization settled on Derek as he thought about Stiles. Derek wasn’t naïve; he knew something had happened to Stiles. It was the reason he had tried to deter Stiles from coming back to the speakeasy in the first place, the reason he tried to deter him from getting attached. 

Derek never should have hired Stiles. This was all his fault.

He met the Betas in the hallway when they arrived. “What’s up, boss?” Erica asked. Derek didn’t respond; he put his fedora on his head as he led them downstairs. Derek sniffed around the theater, finally catching Stiles’ scent on the sidewalk.

“Scott thinks Stiles was taken,” Derek explained as he followed the scent north out of Flatbush, towards Williamsburg.

“Do you really think he’s been taken?” Erica asked, and Derek could feel her instant worry.

“Who would be so bold?” Boyd asked.

“I don’t know,” Derek said. He’d been trying to figure that very same thing out. 

“Over here!” Isaac yelled ten minutes later, when they were in Crown Heights. They’d traced Stiles’ scent there, but had lost it. Derek ran over, smelled Stiles’ scent mingled with other scents. Derek bent down and discovered a drop of dried blood on the pavement. He ran his fingers over it and lifted them to his nose. _Stiles_.

“Blood,” Boyd said, and Derek looked at them. His eyes were red, his claws digging into his palms. “That can’t be good.”

“Scott was right,” Isaac said, looking around and sniffing, his eyes shining gold. “I think they turned down that street.” Derek led the way in the direction Isaac pointed, trying to control his wolf. He wanted to fully shift and howl, tearing through the streets as he searched for Stiles. But he had to keep his head, focus so he could find Stiles.

“What if he’s…” Erica whispered behind him, and Derek snapped his head around, glaring at his three Betas. “You know it’s a possibility,” she continued gently.

“No, it’s not,” Derek barked as he strode forward. “It’s not a possibility.”

Derek wouldn’t allow himself to even entertain the idea that Stiles could be dead. 

The scent ended at an intersection. Each of the wolves went in different directions, trying to sniff out any trace of Stiles or the other scents mingled with him, but they found nothing.

“They covered it up,” Isaac said, sniffing the air. “It’s like they knew we’d be tracking them.”

“Werewolves,” Boyd said. “Or hunters.”

Derek roared and punched the nearby brick wall so hard he broke his hand. Part of the wall crumbled to the ground. Boyd and Isaac grunted behind him while Erica sighed dramatically as Derek held his hand limp at his side, seething and focusing on the pain as it started to heal.

“Breaking a wall isn’t going to find Stiles,” Erica said.

“Shut up, Erica,” Derek snapped. He flexed his fingers, grimacing at the pain.

“What now?” Isaac asked.

“I think I have a pretty good idea of who might be behind this,” Derek said.

*

Derek stormed into the outer office in Peter’s suite, heading straight for the closed door. Peter’s secretary jumped up. “Mr. Hale is in a meeting, I’m sorry, sir, you can’t go in there!” Derek ignored her as he yanked the door open. Peter was leaning back in his office chair, eyes closed and moaning. At the sound of the door opening, his eyes popped open and he turned his head sharply. A woman’s head appeared from beneath the desk, her shoulders bare and lips wet. 

“Derek, if you give me a few more minutes, I’ll be more than happy to talk. But as you can see,” Peter said, indicating the woman crouched between his legs, “I’m a bit occupied.”

“I don’t give a fuck about your blowjob,” Derek sneered.

“See, I do. So either you can stand there and watch, or you can wait outside. Your choice – I’m not picky either way.” Peter dropped back against the chair as he pushed the woman’s head back down. Derek heard the distinctive slurping sounds before he stepped back into the outer office, slamming the door behind him. The secretary stared at him apprehensively, and he was too furious to offer her a reassuring smile.

A few minutes later, the now-clothed woman exited Peter’s office, throwing a leer Derek’s way. She just made his skin crawl. 

Derek reentered the office, shut the door behind him, and walked over to the desk, ignoring the thick scent of sex in the air. He didn’t bother sitting. Peter sat in his large leather chair behind the desk, a smug grin on his face. “I’d recommend Giselle to you if you were still interested in women. Still might be worth checking her out for her mouth. She has the best mouth of any whore in New York.”

“What did you do to Stiles?” Derek said, barely able to contain his fury. 

The shock that flittered across Peter’s face was genuine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Derek bent down, both palms flat against Peter’s desk as he leaned towards his uncle. “I will only ask this one time,” Derek said slowly. “Did you have Stiles taken?”

“Why in the hell would I do that?” Peter asked, and Derek felt no lie in his words, but he wasn’t so naïve as to instantly trust him. “I don’t like what you’re implying, Derek. We’ve discussed this. Now, unless you’d like to end up bloody and tossed on your ass, I suggest you get out of my face.” Derek’s eyes flashed red at the challenge, and Peter matched his with blue, but Derek didn’t back down. “I didn’t take Stiles. I don’t make it a habit of kidnapping useless humans that my nephew fucks.”

“I’m not fucking him,” Derek said, straightening up and taking a step away from the desk. 

“Oh, my mistake,” Peter said with a half-smile, “Humans that my nephew wants to fuck then.”

Derek glared down at Peter, his brain reeling. He hoped that Peter had taken Stiles, if only for the reason that perhaps he could recover Stiles with minimal damage. If someone else took Stiles…

“You’re really worried,” Peter said, his face calculating. Derek thought he detected a hint of concern.

“Someone took one of my Pack,” Derek said, his anger flaring again. Peter waited as Derek tried to figure out his next move. Finally, he squared his shoulders and asked, “Can you find him?”

Peter quirked an eyebrow. “You do know what you’re asking, right? What it’ll cost?”

Derek inhaled; he had known the cost the moment he’d stepped inside Peter’s office. “If you find Stiles alive, I’ll do whatever you want.”

*

It took all morning, but some of Peter’s contacts finally came through with helpful information. Which was how Derek found himself outside a warehouse in Hell’s Kitchen. Boyd, Erica, and Isaac were behind him, and Derek focused his senses, listening and inhaling as he tried to catch anything important. He heard voices, heartbeats, and smelled fear, anger, and amusement. When Isaac broke the lock off the door, Derek opened it and almost choked on the scent of Stiles hanging in the air. Then, he heard a cry of pain, and shifted as he raced up the steps.

There were five men in the hallway outside the door, and Derek easily knocked the man closest to him to the ground. He heard the others fighting behind him, the scent of newly spilled blood doing little to erase the scent of _Stiles’ blood_ in Derek’s nostrils. It was driving him mad with rage, the sour taste of Stiles’ pain, the pitiful cries of terror Stiles emitted behind the closed door. 

Derek burst through the door, immediately gagging on the scent of blood, vomit, and urine. Stiles was on his side in the middle of the room, bleeding and tied to a chair, surrounded by his own vomit. The two men standing at the back of the room watching turned to him, and the man beating Stiles paused mid-kick.

“Who the fuck are you?” he yelled as Derek growled before pouncing. He heard shots behind him, like they were miles away instead of in the same room. He couldn’t focus on anything except the man under him, his hands and boots covered in Stiles’ blood. Distantly, Derek felt pain as something hit him, but he ignored it as he held the man down, claws digging into his chest, as he stretched his neck and roared. Derek then bent down, looked into the terrified eyes of the man beneath him, and ripped the man’s throat out with his teeth. The metallic taste of blood flooded his mouth as he heard the man sputter and gasp, his heartbeat fading as he bled out onto the floor. Derek spit in the man’s face as he stood up, Boyd, Erica, and Isaac standing over the corpses of the other hunters.

Derek heard a sound behind him and growled, but turned to see Stiles faintly moving on the floor behind him. His heartbeat was weak, his breathing slow and labored. Derek dropped to his knees, cradling Stiles’ face in his clawed hands. “Stiles,” Derek managed through his fangs as Stiles squinted up at him through swollen eyes, his face covered in blood and vomit. Then, Stiles passed out.

Erica and Isaac crouched on the other side of Stiles, slicing through the ropes tying him to the chair. As soon as he was free, Derek scooped him up and hurried to the door. He glanced at Boyd and Erica as he passed. “Clean this up,” Derek instructed. 

“Derek, you’ve been shot,” Boyd said, pointing to Derek’s upper arm. 

Derek shook his head. “It’s nothing. We’re taking him to Deaton’s. Be extra careful at the Sour Wolf tonight. Just in case.”

“You got it, boss,” Erica said, already starting to move the bodies.

Isaac led the way downstairs to the car they left parked behind the warehouse. He drove while Derek sat in the backseat with Stiles cradled in his arms. Derek pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and gently wiped the blood and muck from Stiles’ face.

“Is he…?” Isaac asked from the front seat as he sped through Manhattan towards the bridge. 

“Alive,” Derek said quietly, “barely.” Derek had been ignoring his own wound, but now that he had a moment to collect himself in the car and his adrenaline started to come down, he noticed the agonizing pain radiating from his arm. Without jostling Stiles, he pulled his arm out of his jacket, Isaac’s eyes flicking up to the rearview mirror at Derek’s hiss of pain.

“You okay, Derek?”

The sleeve of Derek’s shirt was stained with black blood. _Wolfsbane_.

“No,” Derek said, trying not to panic. It didn’t matter what happened now because Stiles was safe. He ripped the sleeve of his shirt, revealing the veins around the wound that were already starting to turn black. He felt clammy and dizzy, the pain becoming more and more intense as he concentrated on it. “Got hit with a wolfsbane bullet.”

“Fuck,” Isaac said as he accelerated. 

Stiles stirred in his arms, groaning and coughing. His teeth were red from the blood, and when Derek ran a hand over Stiles’ hair, he felt an open wound. Derek lifted Stiles’ shirt, saw the bruises and abrasions covering his skin. He choked back a sob looking down at Stiles’ wounded body, only one thought in his mind: _This is all my fault_. 

Derek placed a hand on Stiles’ black and red ribs and closed his eyes as he sucked the pain from Stiles’ body. He watched as his black veins slowly returned to normal, Stiles’ pain mingling with his own inside of him. Derek’s vision grew blurry from the exertion, and he felt the wolfsbane spreading slowly through his body. But Stiles started breathing easier and curled against Derek, his hand fisting in his shirt.

Derek clutched Stiles, willing him to hold on.

*

Derek was barely conscious when Isaac pulled up in front of the clinic in Bushwick. Isaac opened the door and tried to pull Stiles from Derek’s arms, but Derek growled at him. “Derek, we’ve got to get him inside to Deaton.”

“I can do it,” Derek managed as he stepped out of the car. His legs almost buckled under him when he stood, but Isaac was right there with a steadying hand. Derek didn’t have the energy to tell Isaac to let go, and instead allowed Isaac to support his weight as he carried Stiles inside the vet’s office. The pain was so severe in Derek that he could barely see, his vision blurry and too bright, and the only thing keeping him from passing out was Stiles’ warm, unmoving body in his arms.

“What happened?” Derek heard Deaton’s voice ask from what sounded like a hole. Isaac started explaining what happened as Derek held Stiles, refusing to let him go. Deaton came up to Derek, who felt his fangs extend of their own accord. “Derek, it’s okay. You can let him go, I’ll take care of him.” Reluctantly, Derek let Deaton takes Stiles from him, and then he stumbled, but Isaac caught him and led him over to a chair. 

Derek started to fade as he listened to Deaton and Isaac’s voices, just a pleasant, distinct thrum in the background. But then he felt a searing pain and screamed, falling out of the chair as he writhed on the floor. The bullet wound felt like it was going to burn straight through him, burn everything out of him, and then after a few moments, the pain stopped and Derek was left lying on the ground, panting and feeling drained.

“Derek?” Isaac asked, “You okay?” Derek’s eyes flew open, Isaac’s face hovering right above his. He glared, and Isaac smiled. “He’s fine!”

“You did good, Isaac,” Deaton said as Isaac extended a hand and helped Derek to his feet. Derek felt like he’d been through the wringer, exhausted and in need of rest, but the pain was gone, the bullet hole completely healed. 

“Thank you,” Derek croaked out, his voice hoarse. Derek ran a hand across the back of Isaac’s neck as he crossed over to the table where Stiles was laying. Deaton had Stiles in only his underwear, so Derek could see the full extent of his injuries. It made Derek want to cry; one death for the people who did this to Stiles was not enough. He jumped slightly when he felt Isaac’s hand land on his shoulder. “Is he going to be okay?” Derek whispered.

“I think so,” Deaton said as he cleaned Stiles’ body. “I have a few salves that will enhance Mr. Stilinski’s healing,” he explained as Derek glanced over at the array of herbs and ingredients for the potion sitting on the counter behind Deaton. “Your abilities will aid in his condition, too,” Deaton explained. 

“Just tell me what to do,” Derek said, and Deaton looked up at him with a small smile. 

“Rest and regain your strength. And let me work my magic.”

*

Derek refused to leave Stiles and didn’t leave the vet’s office for the rest of the day. He watched Deaton tending Stiles until he fell asleep in the chair, waking a few hours later to Deaton gently shaking him awake.

“You can take him home,” Deaton said. Derek jumped up from the chair, with a crick in his neck that he rolled his head and shoulders in an effort to loosen. Stiles was covered with a blanket and sleeping. Derek stared at the soft, steady rise and fall of his chest with relief. Stiles was alive.

“How is he?” Derek asked.

“Pretty beat up,” Deaton said as he washed his hands. “Few bruised ribs, lots of surface abrasions and bruises, minor head wounds.” He turned off the water and wiped his hands on a towel. “He was very lucky, actually. If a few of those blows had landed just a fraction one way or the other, he could have died.” Derek felt the bile rise in his throat as he glanced back at Stiles. Deaton grabbed a jar and handed it to Derek. “Use this on him for the next few days. He should recover quickly. I’ve given him laudanum, and I’m sending you home with some more. Use your discretion with how often you take his pain.”

“Thank you,” Derek said as he lifted Stiles in his arms. He carried him out to his car that Isaac had left parked out back earlier. He carefully put Stiles in the backseat, arranging the blanket over him before getting into the front seat. Stiles didn’t stir the entire drive to Brooklyn Heights. Derek carried Stiles up to his apartment, which was thankfully empty. Derek wasn’t sure he could deal with Cora right now.

Derek carefully laid Stiles on his bed, and adjusted pillows and blankets around him until Derek thought he looked comfortable. Then, Derek took a shower. When he looked in the mirror over the sink, he noticed that his shirt was ruined, that he still had blood smeared around his mouth he hadn’t even bothered to wipe away. He watched tiredly as the pink water swirled around his feet, washing away the combination of Stiles’ and the hunter’s blood. 

When he got back into the bedroom, Stiles hadn’t moved. Derek sat in the armchair by the bed, watching Stiles as he slept. Derek studied Stiles’ face in the lamplight, angled towards him on the pillow. His eye was puffy and black, his cheek bruised, his lip busted. Derek felt his anger rise once again that someone had taken Stiles, that someone had marred his beautiful face. 

Derek’s eyes raked over Stiles’ features, the slope of his nose, the contours of his lips, the pattern of moles across his cheek and neck. Stiles’ mouth was slightly open as he slept, and his eyelids fluttered as he dreamed. Derek leaned forward and ran a hand through his hair, and then pressed a kiss to his forehead.

There was no denying it now; Derek had fallen hard for Stiles.

*

Derek was reading on the couch in the living room when Cora burst into the apartment, followed by the rest of the Pack, including Scott.

“Where is he?” Cora asked, nearly hysterical. She started towards the hallway, but Derek grabbed her arm.

“He’s sleeping,” Derek said, “so kindly lower your voice.”

“Doc put him on so much laudanum that we could dance the Charleston on his bed and he’d never know,” Isaac said, going into the kitchen and raiding the refrigerator. 

“How is he?” Scott asked. Derek glanced around at his Pack, who were spread out among the furniture in the living room. 

“He knows, Derek,” Isaac said, shutting the refrigerator door and grabbing an apple from the counter as he walked back into the living room. “That we’re werewolves.”

“YOU TOLD HIM?” Derek yelled, eyes flashing red. Isaac lowered his head and awkwardly dragged the toe of his boot across the floor.

“He needed to know,” Allison said from beside him, and Derek turned his glare to her. 

“She’s right,” Lydia said. “He works for the Sour Wolf now, and if hunters really did take Stiles, they both need to be prepared.” She stared Derek down, clearly secure in her infallible logic.

Derek sighed, his eyes turning normal. He glanced at Isaac and pointed his finger. “We’ll have words later.”

Isaac rolled his eyes as he dropped into Scott’s lap. “Sure. Besides, it’s easier that he knows now that we’re together.”

“I don’t care who you’re fucking, you just can’t go around – “

“We’re getting off topic,” Lydia interrupted. “Stiles.”

Derek sighed and rubbed his eyes. He was exhausted, hadn’t slept except at Deaton’s because he’d been too busy constantly checking on Stiles and periodically taking away his pain. “Stiles is fine. He’ll be on bed rest for awhile, but Deaton gave me a salve that is supposed to help him heal.”

“You’re using magic on him?” Scott exclaimed, looking horrified. Derek glared at him.

“Deaton’s the best,” Erica said reassuringly. 

“Did you two clean up the mess?” Derek asked.

“Sure did, boss,” Erica replied with a grin. “Won’t be able to find those bodies or trace anything back.”

“I don’t want to know,” Derek said, shaking his head. 

“What are we gonna do about the hunters?” Boyd asked. “You know they had to be working for someone.”

“Maybe,” Derek said, running his hands through his hair. “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it today.”

“That’s okay,” Boyd said as Erica and Lydia curled against Derek’s sides. Derek inhaled, letting the feeling of Pack surrounding him calm and comfort him. “I’ll see what I can find tomorrow,” Boyd said. “I got a few contacts I can hit up.”

The Pack stayed for about half an hour more before going home, leaving Derek feeling more at ease than he had felt all day. Cora was still on the end of the couch after Derek closed and locked the door.

“You okay?” he asked, sitting down beside her. She turned to him with red-rimmed eyes.

“Boyd told me what you did,” she said hoarsely. Derek blew an irritated breath out of his nose and scowled. “Did you really kill a man? With your teeth?”

“Yes.”

Cora shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. “Boyd also told me what those men did to Stiles. And hunters! What did they want with him? He doesn’t know anything.”

“I don’t know,” Derek responded, putting an arm around Cora’s shoulders and pulling her close. She snuggled against him. 

“I can’t imagine what it must have been like to find Stiles like that,” she whispered a few minutes later. Derek didn’t respond; he knew he’d never get the image of Stiles beaten and bloody on the floor out of his mind. “They would have killed Stiles if you hadn’t found him.”

“I know,” Derek said, his mouth dry. He’d been trying not to think about that since he found Stiles, trying not to imagine a world without Stiles in it, a world where Derek was responsible for his death.

“Does this have to do with what happened to Laura?” Derek tensed beside Cora, and she felt it and pushed away from him to get a better view of his face. “It does, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” Derek answered truthfully. 

“Laura gets killed, then Stiles almost gets killed, it’s like – “

“That’s enough,” Derek snapped. Cora glanced at him in surprise, and then turned angry. “Don’t be mad. I honestly don’t know anything.”

“You don’t tell me anything!” Cora yelled as she abruptly stood up from the couch. “I didn’t know Stiles got hurt, I wouldn’t even have known how bad if it wasn’t for Boyd! For fuck’s sake, Derek, YOU KILLED A MAN!”

“It’s none of your business!” Derek shouted as he launched himself from the couch. “You’re nothing but a child! Can’t you see I’m trying to protect you?”

“I’m not a child!” Cora yelled. “And it is my business! You’re my brother, and Boyd is my boyfriend, and I have the right to know when you two are – “

“Cora, we are _not_ discussing this!” Derek said with finality. “There are things that are not suitable for you to be involved in!”

Cora started to say something, but then she snapped her mouth shut, rushed to her room, and slammed the door. Derek sighed, feeling weary and tired as he dropped back onto the couch.

*

Derek was in his room where Stiles was still sleeping when he heard the front door open. He quietly closed the bedroom door behind him before walking into the living room, where Chris was making himself at home on the couch.

“How’s Stiles?” he asked as he sat his hat on the cushion beside him.

“Still out, but his wounds are healing.” Derek sat in the chair beside Chris.

“There’s a shipment coming in tonight,” Chris said. “Big payload. Belongs to some guy in Ohio who’s willing to pay us a ridiculous percentage if we deliver it to Cleveland.”

“Then drive it to Cleveland,” Derek said. 

Chris pulled out a cigarette and placed it between his lips. “You should come with me.” He lit the tip and inhaled. “Show your face. You have a reputation; no one fucks with a Hale.”

“That’s not true,” Derek muttered.

“No one with any sense. Hunters don’t have no goddamn sense,” Chris said, exhaling smoke as he spoke. “This could do us good, Derek. We need to expand ourselves to other cities. New York is saturated with bimbos trying to sell alcohol on every corner. But inland, they need the harbor access. We can give it to them.”

“I agree with you,” Derek said, “I just can’t go with you tonight.”

“Get Cora to sit with Stiles, or Allison, he’ll be fine.”

“I’m not leaving him, Chris.”

“You can’t stay by his side twenty-four/seven for the rest of your life.” Derek glared and Chris stared back defiantly, sucking on his cigarette. “You know I’m right.”

“Take Isaac,” Derek said. “He knows what to do.”

Chris leaned forward and stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray on the coffee table. “Fine. Just don’t sit holed up in this place too long. Neither of us can afford it. Especially now that you owe Peter yet more favors.” Derek glowered as Chris stood up and walked to the door. “Is he worth it?” Chris asked as he put on his hat. “Is Stiles worth owing your soul to Peter Hale?”

Derek didn’t answer as Chris let himself out. When Chris was gone, Derek walked back into his room. Deaton had come by earlier that morning and checked over Stiles and did a few things before telling Derek that Stiles was healing nicely. Derek walked over to the side of the bed and glanced down at Stiles, his skin paler than usual with purple and yellowing bruises on his face. He pulled back the blanket and pressed his palms flat against Stiles’ bruised ribs. As he sucked the pain away, his veins turning black with the slow burn of Stiles’ wounds spreading through him, he knew that Stiles was worth it.

Stiles was the only thing worthwhile in Derek’s dark, dark life.

*

Stiles walked along the street, hand in hand with a handsome man. They danced the Charleston in the middle of Fifth Avenue, Scott and Isaac driving by in a large, flashy car. Stiles opened his eyes and the man was leaning over him, but it wasn’t the same man, it was Derek. And Stiles was in pain.

But then he was at the Sour Wolf, in a booth necking with the man from before. His mother and father looked over at him from where they were standing in the middle of the club, and both had disapproving looks on their faces. Stiles pushed the man off of himself, and jumped out of the booth to run to his mother. But then Derek stepped between them, his eyes red, and long, misshapen fangs extending over his lip. He growled, and then pounced on Stiles’ mother, ripping her apart before his eyes.

“Mom!” Stiles yelled, his eyes flying open. The light was bright as it filtered in through the window, and his head was killing him. Correction, his entire body was killing him. He had no clue where he was. His brain was like fluff, his memories hazy. He was at work…then tied to a chair! Stiles sat up, much too quickly, and his entire world spun as black spots crossed his vision. He leaned over and dry heaved over the side of the bed.

“Stiles?” 

Stiles lifted his head at the sound of the voice. Derek was crouched beside the bed, right in front of him, looking worried. Stiles groaned as he dropped back to the pillow, feeling dizzy and weak. He closed his eyes. “What happened?” 

“Can you sit up for a moment? Drink some water?” Stiles started to sit, Derek’s hand behind his shoulders helping him into an upright position. Just that movement made him tired, and he leaned against Derek’s arm across his back, holding him up. Derek lifted a cup to Stiles’ lips and he sipped slowly. When he was finished, he lay back down, exhausted.

“What do you remember?” Derek asked. Stiles felt the bed dip as he sat on the edge.

Stiles raked his brain, trying to remember the details of being tied to a chair. “There were these guys…and they wanted information about you.” Stiles couldn’t remember what exactly, just that they kept asking about Derek.

“Did you tell them anything?” 

Stiles opened his eyes and looked at Derek in disbelief. “No. I got the shit kicked out me because I wouldn’t tell them anything. Will you fucking trust me now?”

“That’s not…” Derek sighed and rubbed his eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”

Stiles looked at Derek for a moment before continuing. “I didn’t know the answers to any of their questions. They were weird.” Something skirted around the edge of Stiles’ consciousness, the questions they asked him, what they told him. Stiles groaned when he couldn’t remember. Then, it finally clicked in his brain that he was in a bed. And Derek was with him. “Where am I?”

“My apartment.”

“How did I get here?” Stiles pushed himself up slowly, Derek’s hands coming out automatically to help him sit up. When he was settled, he looked around. The room was _nice_ , much nicer than the apartment he still shared with his father.

“I brought you here.”

“How did you find me?” 

“That’s not important now.” Derek started touching Stiles’ head, his cheek, his ribs. Stiles wasn’t sure what to think of Derek looking at him in such a caring and concerned manner. “How do you feel?”

“Sore.”

Derek’s mouth was a thin line as he pulled back the blanket and lifted Stiles’ shirt. Stiles went to push his shirt back down, but instantly regretted it when pain shot through his…everything. “Do you need anything?” Derek asked. “Where does it hurt?”

“Everywhere,” Stiles said, resting his head against the headboard and closing his eyes. “My side hurts a lot.” Stiles felt Derek’s hands against his skin, and was about to protest when he suddenly felt warm and tingly, the pain in his side gone. He opened his eyes just in time to see black lines fading in Derek’s arms.

And then he remembered.

_Werewolves._

“Get away from me!” Stiles exclaimed, fear seizing him as he scooted away on the bed. 

“Stiles, please,” Derek started, his face looking pained. 

Derek was a werewolf. That’s what the man had said. He had just done something weird to Stiles that made his side stop hurting, and he had black veins. Because he was like a demon. With red eyes, and big teeth. A werewolf. So, he _hadn’t_ been hallucinating before.

“I know what you are,” Stiles said, scooting back even farther, ignoring the pain in his muscles as he tried to get away. “My father is a cop. He’ll know if something happens to me, if I end up dead or ripped to shreds by fangs or whatever. He’ll – “

Stiles didn’t finish that sentence, because in the next breath he was falling backwards off the bed. He braced himself to hit the floor, but two strong hands caught him instead. Stiles opened his eyes and looked up at Derek, who was gently raising him and settling him back on the bed.

“You’re a werewolf,” Stiles said as Derek arranged the pillow behind his head.

“Yes.” Stiles felt his heartbeat kick up, racing as the truth settled in. Derek. Was a werewolf. “I’m not going to hurt you, Stiles. Think rationally; why would I hurt you?”

A part of Stiles knew that Derek was right. Derek had plenty of opportunity to kill him – when he’d caught him snooping around the theater, when he was passed out drunk, when they met on the docks, when he’d worked late nights. But Derek had never harmed him.

“You saved me,” Stiles said, as things started to make sense. “You saved me from that man.” He blinked and looked at Derek, who tentatively sat on the bed again. “You saved my life.”

“No, I didn’t,” Derek said. “I was almost too late.”

“But I’m sitting here because of you.” 

“Scott’s the one who realized you were missing,” Derek told him. “You should really be thanking him.”

“Scott!” Stiles exclaimed, trying to sit up and get off the bed. “My dad! Oh god, he’s probably got the whole NYPD out looking for me because I didn’t come home last night. I – “

“Scott took care of your dad.” Derek reached out to keep Stiles from getting up, which was probably a good thing since moving hurt. Breathing hurt, actually. Then Derek cocked his head to the side, studying Stiles closely. “Do you know how long you were out?”

Stiles glanced out the windows. “I’m guessing it was late morning when I came to in that room, so a day? I’m sorry I missed work last night.” Stiles rubbed a hand over his hair, feeling a bandage over the back of his head. He poked at it gently.

“Stiles, you’ve been out for five days.”

“FIVE DAYS?” Stiles yelled, sitting up too quickly again as a wave of nausea hit him. 

“Easy.” Stiles let Derek guide him back to the bed. 

“Five days?” He felt panic settling in, his heart rate accelerating as he thought about being unconscious for five days, of his father, the man in that room. And then all the images of the beating flooded back into his brain, and before he knew what was happening, he was shaking and Derek’s arms were around him. Stiles fisted his hands in Derek’s shirt, trying to find something to hold on to, to ground him. Derek didn’t say anything, just rubbed small, comforting circles on Stiles’ back as Stiles tried to process everything.

It was all too much – werewolves and beatings and waking up in Derek’s bed and _painpainpain_. Derek held Stiles through his panic, and Stiles still clutched Derek’s shirt when he finally drifted off, exhausted.

*

When Stiles woke again, it was dark outside. He blinked and sat up slowly, tentatively. He looked around the room and saw Derek sitting in the corner chair, holding a book, watching him over the top. Stiles rubbed his eyes, but found them tender. 

“How are you feeling?” Derek asked, snapping the book closed and setting it on the table.

“Okay,” Stiles replied. He still hurt, but he guessed it was okay.

“Do I need to call the doctor?” Stiles shook his head and tried to stand up, but the action made him sway a little on his feet and the world spin. Derek was there immediately. “Don’t try to stand up.”

“I need to go to the bathroom,” Stiles said, slightly embarrassed. Derek nodded and helped him across the room, Stiles’ legs, back, and side hurting with every step. And he was pretty sure he wasn’t putting all his weight down; Derek was nearly carrying him. Derek walked him to the toilet and then left the room, closing it behind him to give Stiles some privacy. Stiles tried not to feel embarrassed or weak that Derek had to help him _to the bathroom_. 

After he finished his business, he held onto the wall and tub as he walked over to the sink to wash his hands. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and cried out in shock.

He barely recognized himself. All around his left eye was black and blue and swollen. He had a bump on his forehead, a nasty abrasion on his cheek, and a busted lip. He lifted his shirt and saw a whole other slew of bruises and cuts. 

Stiles gripped the side of the sink, trying not to panic. He was fine. He was alive. He was on the mend. He was safe. He’d seen himself beaten before; too many times to count growing up on the rough streets of Brooklyn. But this was different. He looked awful, like a weak, worthless punching bag.

He washed his hands with his eyes closed, purposefully avoiding the mirror, and then used the wall to support himself as he made his way to the door. When he opened it, the hallway was empty, but a moment later Derek was right there, taking his weight.

When Stiles was settled back into bed, Derek asked, “Would you like something to eat?”

Stiles didn’t really feel like eating, but he knew he needed to eat, so he nodded. Derek went somewhere else in the apartment as he picked up the cup of water on the nightstand and stared out the large windowed balcony doors. He could see the river from the bed, the lights along the shore on the other side of the river reflecting off the water. He heard the sound of a ship horn in the distance.

Derek quickly returned with a tray covered in various food and cups. Stiles struggled as he pushed himself into a sitting position, but managed. Derek sat beside him on the bed and set the tray in Stiles’ lap.

“I can’t possibly eat all of this,” Stiles said, glancing at the tiny buffet laid out before him. 

“I know,” Derek said, unfolding a napkin and laying it out for Stiles. “I didn’t know what you’d want.” Stiles watched Derek as he pointed to the different foods, explaining what they were. Stiles didn’t quite know what to make of Derek. This was such a different side of him than what he was used to; this Derek was caring and sweet, the complete opposite of the Derek he’d come to know.

“Is this what you’re like with your Pack?” Stiles asked suddenly. Derek paused, his hand hovering above apple slices, and looked at Stiles. “That’s what the man said, you had a Pack. Is this how you are with them?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Derek said, dropping his hands into his lap.

“Taking care of them, being nice. Is this a Pack thing?”

“Not really,” Derek said. 

Stiles didn’t know what to say, so he picked up one of the apple slices and nibbled on it thoughtfully. After he’d finished half the apple, he took a sip of milk before picking at the slice of bread on the plate. “So, werewolves,” he said. He looked up at Derek with a small smile.

“Yep.”

“How many of you are there?” Stiles asked, watching Derek closely. Derek tensed, and Stiles sighed as he slumped back against the pillow. Figured Derek still wouldn’t trust him. It shouldn’t hurt as much as it did, but Stiles felt like he’d earned his place by now.

“Five,” Derek said, and Stiles glanced at him in surprise. “Me, Cora, Boyd, Erica, and Isaac.”

Stiles nodded and pulled off a piece of bread. “Those men, they wanted to know who your second was, who the Pack was.”

“Boyd,” Derek answered, “The Pack includes the wolves, and Chris, Allison, and Lydia.”

“Humans can be Pack?” Stiles asked, maybe with a little too much interest.

“Yes.”

“They wanted me to help take you down, and they threatened to kill my father.” The memory made his stomach roil, and he pushed the tray away, no longer hungry.

“No one will touch your father,” Derek said. “He’s a cop; they won’t kill a cop unless they’re desperate. Or extremely stupid.”

Stiles turned to look at him. “What if they get desperate?”

“They won’t.”

“Who were those men?” Stiles asked, picking at the blanket absently. He couldn’t get the image of the man’s face out of his mind, kept smelling his sour breath.

“Werewolf hunters.”

“They said they had been following me, they knew some of the things I had been doing. Why did they want me?”

“Because they thought you were Pack,” Derek explained.

“Oh.” But Stiles wasn’t Pack; he didn’t like how that implication made him feel. He should want to run away from these people, but with them was the only place he ever felt he belonged. But that was before he knew about werewolves, and obviously there was no place for him in the Pack. “I’m not hungry anymore. Can you take it away?” Stiles handed Derek the tray, and while Derek carried it into the kitchen, Stiles turned onto his side and tried to fall asleep, ignoring the deep disappointment settling in his chest, and the anxiety and pain coursing through his body.

*

The next few days passed in a blur of pain and laudanum. Stiles was glad that Doctor Deaton gave him enough medicine to make him fall asleep, because consciousness was not pleasant. Deaton said his wounds were healing rather quickly, but that didn’t mean the pain was any more bearable. 

Derek was around more than Stiles expected, but since he was only awake a few minutes each day, Derek could have easily been in the room for only fifteen minutes a day. When Derek was around, he told Stiles about the Sour Wolf: Erica had created a new drink, Cora and Isaac worked on a new set of songs, and the theater started showing a new movie. Stiles didn’t speak much, just listened to the sound of Derek’s voice. It helped numb the pain.

Derek brought him food throughout the day, administered his laudanum, covered him in salves, and took away his pain. Sometimes Doctor Deaton came by to check on him, and Derek was always there, hovering somewhere nearby. Much to Stiles’ chagrin, in addition to helping Stiles to the bathroom multiple times a day, Derek had to help Stiles in and out of the bathtub. Derek ran his water and averted his eyes while Stiles undressed and then slipped on a robe to cover himself. Then, Derek helped Stiles climb into the tub because he couldn’t do it himself. The warm water felt good on his sore body, and he sometimes lay in there for hours as it soothed his muscles. Then, Stiles would struggle to his feet, slip the robe over himself, and call for Derek to help him out of the tub. Derek waited patiently as Stiles dried himself slowly, and then Derek held Stiles’ clean underwear and pajama pants so he could pull them on underneath the robe.

Derek was patient and helpful, his hands gentle and strong as he helped Stiles move around the apartment or sit up in bed. Stiles hated how much he relied on Derek during those days, but there was a part of him that felt safe and secure with Derek around.

One night, Stiles woke up and glanced at the small bedside clock, which read just after 3 a.m. Carefully, he touched his side, which now sported a smaller bandage, then sat up and moved around; his body didn’t hurt as much as it had. He smiled in relief. 

“You feel better.” Stiles jumped in surprise. Derek was in the corner chair reading, music quietly playing from the vitrola. 

Stiles ran a hand over his face. “Why are you up?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Just reading.” Derek stood and walked over to sit beside Stiles. “You look better.”

“I actually feel better.” Stiles twisted and stretched, moved his legs and touched his side. “I almost feel like a human.” He tried to stand up, but that was too much. He sat back down quickly, head spinning. 

“You okay?” Derek touched Stiles’ arm lightly. 

“That was a bit too much.” Stiles lay back down, trying to calm his head. “What are you reading?” 

“ _The Island of Doctor Moreau._ ” Derek gently touched the wound on Stiles’ head, then his side. “Do you need anything? Is the pain too bad?”

“I’m okay.”

Derek nodded and returned to the corner chair while Stiles tried to go back to sleep. He tossed and turned, but he was wide awake. The more he moved, the more his body started to hurt and the more frustrated he got. Finally, he rolled to his back and sighed. 

“Can’t fall asleep?” Derek asked.

“Am I disturbing you?” 

“Not at all.” Stiles lay there a few minutes before Derek spoke again. “Would you like me to read to you?”

Shocked, Stiles nodded. Derek pulled the chair beside the bed, opened the book, and started reading. Stiles watched him, face open and unguarded. His body was relaxed, his voice rolling pleasantly over the sentences. Stiles closed his eyes, listening to the rise and fall of Derek’s words. This was a side of Derek he hadn’t seen. This wasn’t the bootlegger, speakeasy owner, or Alpha. This was just Derek. 

And it was just for Stiles.

It didn’t take long to fall asleep.

*

Scott and Isaac came to visit Stiles after he was able to stay awake for a few hours without falling back asleep. Stiles was surprised by how incredibly happy it made him to have Scott stretched on the bed beside him, telling him about everything he’d been missing.

“And then Isaac took me to a casino, and we watched a man get beat unconscious,” Scott said. “But I won two hundred dollars!”

Stiles’ mouth dropped open. “You didn’t?”

Scott grinned. “I did.” His face dropped and he lowered his voice. “I’ve missed you, Stiles.”

“I’ve missed you, too, buddy.” Stiles clapped Scott on the shoulder.

“You look great. Derek has been watching you like a hawk, wouldn’t let any of us bother you until today. I came by every day, but he said you needed your rest and didn’t need to be disturbed.” From Scott’s expression, it was clear that he did not agree with Derek’s decision. “He used magic potions on you!”

“They aren’t magic potions,” Isaac said from the chair where he was idly flipping through a newspaper, mostly ignoring the two of them as they talked.

“They are too magic potions,” Scott shot Isaac’s way, who just shrugged and flipped to the next page of the paper. Stiles smiled to himself, wondering when Scott and Isaac had gotten so close. He turned back to Stiles. “They were magic potions that magically healed you!”

“I honestly can’t say I’m complaining,” Stiles said, trying not to think about what it would have felt like if he _hadn’t_ had magic medicine to help him. 

Later after Scott and Isaac left, Cora came in to see him. She flung herself on the bed, hugging him tightly. “I thought you were going to die!” she sobbed into his shoulder.

“Cora,” Stiles said, pain flaring up through his body. “You’re kinda hurting me.”

“Sorry!” she exclaimed, pulling away and staring at him apologetically. “I’ve just missed you so much. Derek yelled at me the few times I tried to come in here.”

“Really?” Stiles asked. 

“He hasn’t left the apartment since you got hurt,” Cora said, “until today.”

“How has he been working?” Stiles asked, immediately feeling guilty.

Cora shrugged. “We’ve been covering for him at the Sour Wolf, and I believe Chris has been taking care of the shipments.”

“I can’t believe I’ve kept him from work,” Stiles muttered to himself. “I’ve just been in the way.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Cora said. She cupped his face gently. “You look so much better. You should have seen your face when he brought you in! And what they did to you.” Cora shuddered. “Boyd told me all about it. But they took care of the hunters, so you don’t have to worry about anything.”

“What do you mean?” Stiles asked.

Cora looked at him in surprise. “Didn’t Derek tell you?” Stiles shook his head. “They killed those hunters when they rescued you.” Cora continued babbling about different things, but Stiles didn’t hear any of it. His mind focused on one thing: _Derek killed those men_.

Part of Stiles was terrified, the other part relieved. He’d been scared that they would come looking for him, find him and tie him up again, or worse, kill him. But that wasn’t a concern anymore; Derek had killed them.

After Cora left, Stiles made a decision. He’d imposed on Derek’s life enough. He had been there for too long, and although Scott assured him he was helping keep his dad in the dark, Stiles needed to get home. And away from Derek.

With all the strength he could muster, he got out of bed. His entire body was stiff and still extremely sore. Walking proved to be more difficult than he had originally anticipated. He limped with almost every step. Slowly, he took a few deliberate steps before he was out of breath and in pain. His side, where the bandage was still attached, burned, his head throbbed where the bandage had just been removed, and his back hurt. But he needed to get out. Steeling his mind and body, he walked on.

He wore pajamas and didn’t have the strength to put his clothes on, so he pulled on a robe lying over the back of a chair – Derek’s robe, because it was too big and hung on his slight frame. Stiles made it into the hall right outside Derek’s apartment before the panic attack hit.

Stiles fell against the wall and slid down to the floor, dropping his head between his knees. He was going to get taken again. He was alone, outside the safety of the bedroom, and the men were going to come and get him. He wasn’t safe anywhere; and if the men couldn’t find him, they would get his dad, or Scott. Stiles felt his throat closing, his chest constricting as he tried to breathe. He had to get home, protect his dad from the men. But they would take him as soon as he stepped on the street, Stiles knew that.

He didn’t know how long he sat on the floor, shaking and struggling for breath, before warm hands were on his face and a soft voice was repeating _Stiles, Stiles_ over and over.

The voice soothed him enough that his breathing evened out and he could lift his head. Derek was crouched in front of him, staring at him with worry. “Stiles, what’s wrong?”

“He’s going to get me,” Stiles said, looking around nervously. “On my way home. He’s going to take me again.”

“Stiles, look at me,” Derek said, voice soft but firm. He rubbed his thumbs underneath Stiles’ eyes. “No one is going to hurt you. I promise.”

Stiles breathed, _in out in out_ , as he looked into Derek’s eyes. He had never been this close to Derek, their faces only inches apart, and from this close he noticed the flecks of gold in Derek’s eyes. It grounded him, calmed his fear until he felt like the haze of panic started to thin. “You killed him,” Stiles said weakly, “the man who took me.”

A moment of surprise fluttered across Derek’s face before he curled his fingers around Stiles’ neck. “Yes,” Derek said, voice low and gravelly. “And I’d do it again without a thought.”

“I’m scared, Derek,” Stiles admitted. His body still shook, and he seemed to be unable to regain control. 

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Derek said. “You’re safe. I won’t let anyone harm you.”

“They killed your sister,” Stiles said, “what makes you think they won’t kill me?”

The expression on Derek’s face was unreadable, but he stood and helped Stiles to his feet. Derek kept a steadying hand on Stiles’ lower back as he held his arm and guided him back into the apartment. Derek led him through the living room and down the hallway, back into the bedroom. Stiles crawled carefully onto the bed, exhausted and spent.

Derek walked towards the door, and Stiles called out, “Please don’t go.” Derek turned around, and Stiles felt so wrecked, so thin and weak in a way he never had before. His whole world was confused and uprooted, and he had been a single point spinning out of control since the moment he first stepped into the speakeasy. All he knew in that moment was that he didn’t want to be alone, and there was no one in the world he’d rather be with than Derek.

“Okay,” Derek said. He toed off his shoes and hung his jacket and hat on the coat rack in the corner. He stripped down to his undershirt and underwear before crawling on the bed beside Stiles. Stiles laid his head on Derek’s chest, clinging to him. He felt Derek tense beneath him, and then move around as he tried to figure out where to put his hands before settling them around Stiles’ body.

“Tell me about your day,” Stiles said. “Where did you go?”

“To the docks,” Derek replied. “Chris has started smuggling liquor for a guy who runs Cleveland.” Stiles nodded. “It’s raining outside,” Derek said after a few minutes. “You would have gotten wet if you’d have made it downstairs.” Stiles smiled slightly, the tension in his body lessening as Derek talked. “I got a new book.”

“What is it?”

“A Hercule Poirot mystery by Agatha Christie entitled _The Mysterious Affair at Styles_.” 

“Stiles,” Stiles muttered with a laugh. He heard Derek chuckle beneath his ear.

Derek reached over and grabbed the book from the nightstand. “I heard it’s wonderful. Would you like me to read it to you?”

Stiles nodded, and Derek opened the book and started reading. Stiles closed his eyes, listening to the sound of Derek’s voice rumble from deep in his chest. The sound entered his ear and reverberated through his body, causing him to feel light all over. 

As Derek read, Stiles shifted his head onto Derek’s shoulder so he could see him. Derek’s face was expressive and animated, his eyes twinkling, a rare smile on his lips that went deeper than facial muscles. Derek looked years younger, almost like a different person. The man who lay beside him, his voice affected in silly accents with each change of character, wasn’t a feared bootlegger or killer. He was a man without cares, a man enjoying himself, a man with no reservations or self-consciousness as he spoke as an elderly British lady (in a terrible accent, Stiles noted).

Stiles fell asleep somewhere around chapter six, feeling safe and relaxed.

*

Two weeks after Stiles got hurt, he returned home, almost one hundred percent healed. He still had a few bruises, a few abrasions that hadn’t healed completely, but Deaton said he was almost as good as new.

Lydia drove Stiles to Greenpoint. He had expected Derek to do it, but Derek hadn’t been around when he’d woken up, so he hadn’t even been able to tell him goodbye. Or more importantly, thank you.

Stiles’ dad came home that evening, looking tired and stressed. He was surprised to see Stiles. “I thought you were working evenings now,” the sheriff said, sitting down in the chair in the kitchen. 

“Um, they switched my shift again,” Stiles lied. He should have found out what Scott had told his father for the past couple weeks before coming home. “They hired some new guys, so they got my crappy shifts.”

The sheriff nodded, and then studied Stiles closely. Stiles fidgeted under his father’s penetrating gaze, knowing that his father was a detective with keen senses. It was only a matter of time before he figured something out. Then he heard the sheriff sigh. “You got into another fight, didn’t you?”

“What?” Stiles asked.

The sheriff reached forward, and Stiles flinched. Worry creased the sheriff’s brow. “Son, what’s going on? You’ve got the remnants of a black eye, a fading bruise on your cheek, and you disappeared for two weeks.”

“Nothing, Dad, honest.” Stiles crossed his arms and glanced out the kitchen window. “Some of the Italian guys jumped me and Scott at work, that’s all.”

“Aren’t you a little old to be getting into fights?” the sheriff asked. 

“Yeah,” Stiles said. 

“You tell me these guys’ names. I think I’m gonna go have a talk with them, or at least put them on the radar of every cop in the city. If they think they’re gonna – “

“Dad!” Stiles exclaimed. “It’s okay. It’s not a big deal.”

“Stiles, it is a big deal. It’s called assault, and if you let – “

“Drop it!” Stiles yelled. His dad looked at him in shock, but then shrugged.

“Fine,” he said, reaching over and grabbing the paper. Stiles got up and tried to walk as normally as he could out of the kitchen, but he was pretty sure his dad caught sight of his slight limp.

*

Stiles took a cab to the theater to see Derek. He wanted to thank him, wanted to find out when he needed to come back to work, and honestly, just wanted to see him again. Stiles had gotten used to being around Derek over the last few weeks, enjoyed talking to him and getting to know him. He hated to admit it, but he was going to miss waking up and finding Derek nearby, miss falling asleep to the sound of Derek reading to him. He wasn’t stupid enough to read anything into Derek’s actions beyond his concern for an employee and friend; it had been nice is all.

Climbing the steps to the second floor wore Stiles out, his leg almost healed but still a bit weak and sore. After resting for a bit against the wall, he knocked hesitantly on Derek’s office door, and stepped inside when Derek called out.

“Stiles,” Derek said when he glanced up from the papers on his desk. “What do you want?”

Stiles tried not to flinch at the brusque words. Nothing had changed between him and Derek, no matter how it seemed in the apartment. He was still just the guy who mopped the floors and washed the dishes.

“I wanted to know when I should report back at work,” Stiles said as he sat down in the chair across from Derek.

“That won’t be necessary,” Derek said. “I won’t be needing your services anymore.”

Stiles blinked. “What?”

“I don’t need you anymore. The speakeasy is strapped for cash, and I just can’t afford to pay you anymore.” Derek picked up his pen and turned back to the papers on the desk. “I also advise you to find another establishment to frequent.”

Stiles stared at Derek in shock. “You’re firing me?”

“If you want to phrase it that way, yes,” Derek replied without looking up.

“But…what did I do?” Stiles couldn’t believe his ears. How could Derek do this? He’d worked so hard, he hadn’t given away the things he did know when he’d been beaten for information. And what about the last two weeks? Stiles just didn’t understand.

“It’s nothing personal, Stiles,” Derek said, looking up, his face blank. “This is a business, and I have to treat it as such.”

“You can’t do this!” Stiles exclaimed, standing up with some difficulty. His leg ached, but he ignored it for the time being. 

“Stiles, I own the Sour Wolf,” Derek said. “I can do whatever I want.”

“But I have no job! I quit my job at the docks because of this job, and they won’t take me back! What am I supposed to do?” Stiles yelled.

“Find another manufacturing job,” Derek said, shrugging. “Or at one of the many factories. It’s really not my concern.”

“The hell it’s not!” Stiles yelled. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“Excuse me?” Derek asked, shocked and angry. “You do realize who you are talking to, correct?”

“Yes. I thought I was talking to the man who took care of me for the last two weeks, who made my dinners and helped me to the bathroom when I couldn’t walk and read to me and calmed me when I woke from nightmares.”

Derek glared at Stiles. “I was responsible because of the hunters,” he said. “And I felt a bit sorry for you. But that debt is repaid now.”

Stiles felt like someone punched him in the gut. “Who _are_ you?” Stiles asked. “How could you…” Stiles trailed off, trying to control himself. He was so angry, so upset. “I know I’m not Pack, but I need this job.”

“I’m sorry, Stiles. Nothing that you say is going to change my decision. Now, kindly show yourself out.” Derek turned back to his work, leaving Stiles standing there, stunned. After a few moments, Stiles managed to force himself to walk out of the office, down the stairs, and out of the theater. 

He walked around aimlessly after he left the theater, not paying attention to where his feet carried him. He couldn’t believe what just happened. The way Derek looked at him, like he was a pest, someone below him, barely worth the time of day.

That contrasted so violently with the way Derek had looked at him at the apartment. He’d looked at Stiles with concern, with affection, like Stiles mattered. 

Stiles ignored the way his leg and ribs burned with pain as he walked. He didn’t want to go home, couldn’t face his dad. He had no clue what he was going to do. He had to have a job, he had to help support his dad. Stiles didn’t want to go back to the docks, to killing himself slowly day after day as he worked his fingers to the bone and wore himself away until there was nothing left.

Stiles barely registered it when he heard his name. His name repeated three times and a car horn blared before Stiles even looked up. Lydia and Allison were driving along the street beside him. “Finally,” Lydia said. “Get in the car, Stiles.”

“No,” Stiles said.

“Stiles,” Allison said, opening the door and hopping out as Lydia rolled to a stop. “Please come with us.”

“Why? Derek not satisfied with firing me? Did he get you two to lure me into the car so you can drop me off a cliff?”

“Puh-leeze,” Lydia called from the car. “I do _not_ do Derek’s bidding. He may be the Alpha, but he doesn’t tell me what to do.”

Allison put a hand on Stiles’ shoulder and gave him a reassuring smile. “Trust us, okay?” 

Stiles sighed and gave in, from good judgment or exhaustion, he wasn’t sure. But he followed Allison to the car and crawled into the back. As soon as he sat down, he breathed a sigh of relief. His leg was on fire.

“Where are we going?” Stiles asked.

“To Derek,” Lydia said.

“No,” Stiles said. “Stop the car. I am _not_ going to grovel to Derek.”

“He’s the one who needs to do the groveling,” Lydia snapped. “I swear, when I’m done with him, he’ll wish he never met me. I’m going to take Allison’s bow and – “

“Derek was wrong to fire you,” Allison said, interrupting Lydia’s tirade. 

“No, I think he was pretty confident in his decision,” Stiles said bitterly.

“You have to understand something about Derek,” Allison said.

“He’s an asshole,” Lydia piped up. “And difficult. And stupid. And emotionally stunted, and – “

“Yes, he’s all that,” Allison said with a sigh, “But he’s also a wonderful Alpha. He has a lot of baggage. He’s been through a lot. He just lost his sister a few months ago, and he lost other family before that.”

“So?” Stiles asked. He wasn’t feeling particularly forgiving at the moment.

“Go easy on him,” Allison said as Lydia pulled up in front of Derek’s apartment building.

“But not too easy,” Lydia said. “Because he doesn’t deserve it.”

Stiles got out of the car, unsure exactly what he was doing. He glanced back at the car, where Lydia was looking angry and Allison was smiling encouragingly. She waved, and Stiles walked nervously towards the building. Inside, he took the elevator to the top floor. Derek opened the door before Stiles had a chance to knock on it. They both just stared at each other before Derek stepped aside so Stiles could enter.

Stiles walked over to the couch, sat down, and rubbed his thigh distractedly.

“Does your leg hurt?” Derek asked, dropping onto his knees in front of Stiles.

“It’s nothing.”

“Lift up your pant leg.”

“No,” Stiles said, scooting away.

Derek sighed. “Let me take away some of your pain.”

“I don’t want anything from you.”

“Stiles,” Derek said, a pleading note in his voice.

“What is wrong with you?” Stiles asked. “A few hours ago you were tossing me out, now you’re wanting to take my pain away?”

“Please, Stiles.” Stiles rolled his eyes as he lifted his pants leg over his knee, and Derek slid his hands beneath the fabric. He pressed his wide, warm palms on the sides of Stiles’ thigh and closed his eyes, the warm, tingly feeling coursing through Stiles’ leg as black slithered up Derek’s arms. The pain disappeared, leaving Stiles feeling breathless and light-headed.

Derek pulled his hands away and stood as Stiles righted his pants leg. 

“Why am I here?” Stiles asked. 

Derek paced in front of him, scowling. He finally stopped, and looked at the floor. “You were barely alive when I found you, Stiles,” he started quietly. “Your heartbeat was so faint, you were covered in so much blood. And it was all my fault. I warned you to stay away, I told myself to get rid of you. I knew you would get hurt.”

“Derek, what happened, it wasn’t – “

“Don’t,” Derek snapped, finally looking up at Stiles. His eyes were filled with so much pain it caught Stiles off guard. “It is my fault. I will have to live with what happened to you.”

“I’m fine.”

“You need to get out, Stiles,” Derek said. “Leave, run far away from here.”

“I don’t want to leave,” Stiles said. “I’ve never felt like I belonged anywhere before. But I feel like I belong with you. All of you.” 

Derek sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m trying to protect you, can’t you see that?”

“You have protected me,” Stiles said. “I feel safer with you than anyone else.”

“Then you’re a fool.”

Stiles didn’t know how to respond. Derek wanted to protect him, but Derek also wanted him gone. Both of those revelations hurt in some way.

“So, is that it? You explain yourself, but I still have no job?”

Derek dropped into the chair on the other side of the coffee table. “You still have your job. I think the Pack will rip me apart if I don’t give it back to you.”

“Oh, that makes me feel great,” Stiles said sarcastically as he got up. “Thanks, but no thanks.” He started for the door.

“I just want to protect you,” Derek said so quietly that Stiles almost missed it. Stiles paused and glanced at Derek, looking small and defeated in the chair. “You’re my responsibility; you’re Pack.” Stiles hesitated at the door, his hand poised right over the handle. “Come to my office midday tomorrow. I’ll find you something to do that’s not too strenuous. If you still want a job.”

“We’ll see,” Stiles said, opening the door and leaving without glancing back.


	5. Chapter 5

Derek was sitting on the balcony, looking out over the East River, when he heard the front door open. Cora’s footsteps echoed through the house until she finally paused in the doorway. Derek didn’t even look up; he knew she was pissed.

“What he _fuck_ is your problem?” she yelled.

“Please lower your voice and refrain from using such profanity,” Derek said in a monotone. “It doesn’t become a lady.”

“Fuck being a lady,” Cora exclaimed. “How could you do that to him?”

Derek didn’t answer, just looked at the lights dancing on the water. He could still smell the scent of Stiles lingering in the apartment.

“I know how you feel about him,” Cora said. Derek tensed, but it really didn’t surprise him. Not after everything. “He deserves better.”

“I know,” Derek responded. 

Cora sighed and dropped into the seat beside him. “Is he coming back?”

“Don’t know.”

“He will. You know he will.”

“I’m not so sure,” Derek said. “I hope he doesn’t.”

Cora reached over and placed her hand over his, squeezing gently. Derek looked down at it in shock. “Erica and Lydia still aren’t talking to you,” Cora said. “They’re really mad.”

“They’re always mad,” Derek said. 

“Why do you push him away?”Cora asked softly. 

Derek refused to answer, the words bubbling so close to the surface that they terrified him. If he opened his mouth, they would come tumbling out with such a force that they would consume him, drag him under and drown him. And he couldn’t afford that. He couldn’t allow himself to feel anything more, to put Stiles into any more danger than he already was. Men like Derek didn’t get the luxury to feel, to love.

Men like Derek didn’t get happy endings.

“Why do you always do this?” Cora asked, standing up quickly and spinning around to glare down at him. “You always push me away. You never tell me anything. _I’M ALL YOU HAVE LEFT!_ ”

Cora’s words cut him deeply, and he suddenly felt an overwhelming grief for Laura, missed her so bad that he could barely breathe. She would know what to do, she would have loved Stiles and told Derek not to be an idiot and she’d break his face if he did. Derek lifted his eyes up to Cora, a miniature Laura, but so much younger, more naïve, sheltered. He and Laura had agreed on that when their mother died. Cora would be protected.

“I barely know you anymore, Derek,” she said, tears springing to her eyes. “You never talk, you disappear for hours in the middle of the night, and I _know_ it’s not liquor related because I asked Erica if Chris was gone, too.” Derek stared at her painfully. “Derek, what are you into? What has happened to you?”

Derek turned his eyes back to the river. 

“I feel like I’m all alone, Boyd is the only one I have. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t know _anything_.” Derek clamped his jaw tightly. “I know Stiles better than I know you these days.” She turned and disappeared into the apartment, leaving Derek alone on the balcony.

*

Derek waited anxiously in his office all day, eyes darting to the door every few minutes. But Stiles never showed up. Derek convinced himself that was for the best.

He didn’t show up at the Sour Wolf that night, either. Derek told Boyd he had errands to run and left the club just after ten and drove through Brooklyn to Brownsville. The casino was on the third floor of a building that fronted as an Italian restaurant. He walked up the three flights of stairs, the air heavy with the smell of marinara sauce and oregano, and was approached the moment he set foot on the third floor landing.

“Derek, Aiden ain’t here,” Ethan said, looking slightly frantic. “Tell Peter he’ll have his money, but we still got till the end of the month.”

“Relax,” Derek said, annoyed. “I’m not here on business.”

Ethan’s entire demeanor changed. An easy smile spread across his face. “Really? Well, what exactly can I help you with?”

Derek pulled out a stack of cash. “I’d like to at least double that.” 

Ethan took it and nodded. “There’s a group of rubes from down south in the parlor playing Blackjack. Old money, good poker faces, but easy to sense their good hands from their bad ones.” He grinned. “Want to be dealt in?”

“Yeah,” he said as he hung his coat and hat on the rack. 

“I have some information for you,” Ethan said, stepping closer and lowering his voice. “About those hunters. There were some in here a few nights ago, didn’t know about me and Aiden. We heard them talking about moving soon, whatever that means. But the important part was that there’s a shipment of wolfsbane and other herbs coming in from out west. It’s coming into Allentown in four days.”

Derek nodded. “Thanks. I owe you one.”

“Just keep those hunters off my ass.”

“As long as you reside in my territory, you have my protection,” Derek said, and Ethan nodded.

Derek sat down at the Blackjack table Ethan suggested. There were four other men at the table, older gentlemen who spoke with refined southern accents. Derek nodded to each of them in turn, and strategically lost enough money to avoid suspicion, but by the time the men got up, had tripled his winnings.

Ethan whistled when Derek came to collect. “That’s more than a few clams,” Ethan said, counting out stacks of cash. “You’ve got almost fifty thousand here.”

“Those men were idiots,” Derek said. 

“You’re going to break the bank,” Ethan joked.

“You will make four times this tonight,” Derek said. He glanced around, then asked, “Aiden open for business downstairs?”

Ethan smirked. “Winning all this cash make you hot?” Derek glared. “Yeah, he’s downstairs. Want me to hold on to this?”

“Please.” Derek left Ethan and his cash as he walked down one flight of stairs. The doorman nodded at him as he entered, and he was hit with the sound of loud music and laughter as soon as he walked through the door. There was a group of naked women wearing only loose, half-open robes hovering together near the door.

“Hey sugar,” one of them said. “I got just what you need tonight.”

“Doubt it.” Derek went further inside, eyes scanning the room for Aiden, but he was nowhere to be seen. But Derek’s eyes did land on something he was interested in. Tall, dark hair, close-cropped beard, and wide muscular shoulders.

Derek caught the man’s eyes, and the man smiled, motioning his head towards the nearby hallway. Derek followed the man inside a bedroom, and as soon as the door was shut, the man shoved Derek up against the wall. Derek closed his eyes, the man’s hands rough as they worked over him. 

It was exactly what Derek wanted.

The man spun Derek around and pushed him into the wall, his cheek digging painfully against the wood as the man crowded behind him. He roughly undid Derek’s fly, yanking out his cock and starting to jerk it. He felt the rippling muscles against his skin, felt the strength in the man’s grip as he tugged on his cock. The man whispered dirty things in his ear, but his voice was all wrong, too deep and gravelly.

His hands were all wrong, the fingers short and blunt instead of long and delicate.

The man turned Derek around and dropped to his knees and slid his mouth over Derek’s cock. Derek’s eyes fluttered shut, his hands in the man’s hair, on his shoulders. 

But his hair was all wrong, long and wavy instead of short and disheveled.

His shoulders were all wrong, broad and muscled instead of narrow and slender.

He gripped the man’s head, fucking his mouth roughly as he tried to forget about brown eyes, about constellations of moles, about perfect hands resting against his chest as a warm body curled against him and fell asleep.

*

Derek sat in the front seat of Peter’s Rolls Royce, beside his driver whose name Derek didn’t know. Peter had called him that morning, the first time since he’d helped out with Stiles. Derek didn’t know what Peter expected him to do, but knew he had no choice.

There was a woman in the backseat with Peter, a pretty red head with an annoying laugh. She kept laughing at things Peter said, even when they weren’t remotely entertaining. Derek didn’t know why he was there; he wasn’t a fucking chaperone.

“Here,” Peter said suddenly. The driver pulled off the road onto a deserted lane that led into the woods. Derek didn’t like where he suspected this was heading. When the driver pulled to a stop, Peter said to the woman, “Tell me, Miranda, how you know Gerard Argent.”

“Wh-what?” Mirada stuttered, her heartbeat rocketing in her chest. 

“I don’t know what kind of fool you take me for, or better yet, what kind of fool your boss takes me for. Did he really think a little bit of pussy would distract me enough for me to let my guard down?” Derek watched in the rearview mirror as Peter’s clawed hand gripped the woman’s chin. Derek could feel her terror in the closed confines of the car. “Did you really think you could snoop around my office, around my apartment, without me finding out?” He sneered, his eyes flashing blue, his canines visible between his parted lips.

“Please don’t kill me,” she begged, tears streaming down her face. “I was just following orders. Mr. Argent just wanted information about you. I swear.”

“And did you give it to him?” Peter asked, leaning close to her face.

Miranda shook her head. “No. I didn’t tell him anything. And I won’t, I swear.”

“Oh, I know that, doll,” Peter said, grinning, his fangs making it some sort of grotesque mask. He trailed the index finger of his free hand over her cheek, the claw dragging against the skin. “Kill her slowly,” he directed towards Derek. “And make sure it’s not traced back to us.”

Derek opened the door as Miranda started screaming, and Peter rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Why don’t they ever go quietly?” Peter asked Derek as he grabbed her and dragged her from the car. He clamped a hand over her mouth as she clawed at him, desperately trying to get away. “Thank you. God, I hate it when they scream.”

Derek pulled her into the trees as she struggled against his hold. He pushed her onto her back in the dirt, straddling her chest as he strangled her. He didn’t look at her, couldn’t look at her face as she kicked and fought for her life under him. He stared at the fallen leaves by her head as he listened to her soft cries and her slowing heartbeat. He took pity on her after a few moments and easily snapped her neck, and she immediately went limp under him.

Derek didn’t look at her as he stood up, his stomach roiling. He walked heavily back to the car, her screams still echoing in his ears. Peter watched him closely as he approached. “That wasn’t very slow,” Peter said.

“She suffered enough,” Derek said as he climbed into the front of the car.

*

Derek never got drunk. But he was drunk. And sprawled on the couch in the living room, the bottle of aconite whiskey slipping from his loose fingers. He waited for the sound of the bottle to shatter on the floor, but it never came. He looked down at where it should have fallen, but there were shoes there. Shoes connected to legs. His eyes followed the line all the way up to the face, which belonged to Boyd. 

“Derek? You okay?”

“Fine,” he slurred as he tried to get off the couch, but that was way too much trouble. “Fine. You have my bottle.”

“I’ve never seen him drunk,” Isaac whispered, and hey, when did he get there? “Think this has to do with Stiles?”

“Stiles,” Derek repeated, images sloshing through his alcohol-laden brain. He glanced around the room, expecting Stiles to be there. He wasn’t, but Cora was in the corner chair, staring at him.

“I’m worried about him,” Cora said from what sounded like far away. It was like watching a movie starring Boyd, Isaac, and Cora. 

“Cora, can you leave us alone a few moments?” Isaac asked. 

Cora glared, shaking her head vehemently. “No! I will _not_ be kept out of the loop, not again.”

Boyd went over to her and whispered something to her. She stood up and stormed out of the room, slamming the door loudly behind her. Derek’s hands went up to his ears. Fuck, that was _loud_.

“Derek,” Isaac said, squatting down in front of him. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Isaac, don’t shout,” Derek said. “You’re talking very loud.”

“Talk to us,” Boyd said, sitting on the edge of the couch. 

Derek covered his eyes with his hand and sighed. He didn’t want to talk. He couldn’t talk. It was like all his words had been taken and placed inside a stoppered bottle. He looked at Isaac and Boyd’s faces, never wanting them to find out. He never wanted them to know what he really was.

Derek was a monster.

He couldn’t get the images of that woman out of his mind, the feeling of her delicate neck under his fingers as he strangled her. Peter had tried to rationalize it, _she’d been working for Gerard, Derek, you’ve killed for much less._ But even with the knowledge that Gerard sent her, he couldn’t forgive himself. 

“I killed her,” Derek murmured, staring at the floor. “I’ve never killed a woman before.”

“What woman?” Boyd asked. “Derek, what are you talking about?”

“Don’t tell Stiles,” Derek said. “Don’t tell him I’m a monster.”

“You’re not a monster,” Boyd said. “Derek, what happened?”

Derek thought of Stiles’ bloody and mangled body, remembered the terrifying scent of his faint heartbeat, the stench of death creeping upon him. He imagined Stiles underneath him as he strangled him, his hands tightening around that beautiful neck until he crushed his throat.

He saw Stiles’ dead eyes staring at him, his throat torn out from where Derek had sank his teeth into it.

Derek rolled over and threw up on the floor.

*

Isaac kept glancing at him from the passenger seat in a way that Derek perceived was supposed to be stealthy. All it did was annoy him.

“What?” he barked.

“Nothing,” Isaac said, staring straight ahead. Derek growled, and Isaac fidgeted with the brim of his hat. “Um, we’re really worried about you.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

“Uh, I think that’s where you’re wrong,” Isaac said. Derek turned on him, eyes burning red. Isaac sighed and rolled his eyes. “Don’t Alpha me, okay? You were ossified last night, completely out of it.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Derek muttered.

“You upchucked on my shoe.” Derek grunted. “You said you killed a woman,” Isaac started hesitantly, but Derek growled loudly at that. “Hey, you brought it up.”

“This discussion ends here,” Derek said. 

“It’s Peter, isn’t it?” Isaac continued like he hadn’t even heard him. Derek sighed, wondering sometimes why he wanted these people in his Pack in the first place. Or maybe that was the whole reason; Derek had never been attracted to people who just rolled over and didn’t challenge him. But right now, he could do with a little less challenging.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I can help you, if you need it,” Isaac said quietly. 

Derek looked at him sharply. “You’d help me kill people?”

Isaac shrugged. “If you needed help, yeah. You’ve started letting me help with the bootlegging, why not with the other stuff, too?”

“No.” Derek shook his head as he stared at the road. “You shouldn’t even be here now.”

“You need the help, and picking up liquor shipments ain’t hard.”

“Until you get shot by a Prohi or a crooked piker,” Derek pointed out. 

“Unless they got Wolfsbane bullets, there ain’t nothing to worry about.” Isaac grinned, and Derek exhaled heavily through his nose. Isaac sobered and dropped his voice. “I’m serious, though, about helping you out. I’ve got your back, Derek. No matter what you do.”

Derek saw the first car coming down the road and went to open the door. But before he did, he said, “It’s not necessary, but,” he paused and looked at Isaac seriously, “thanks.”

Isaac just smiled.

*

Stiles was miserable. He had no job, nowhere to go, nothing to do except sit around his house and sulk. And think about Derek. Which made him even more miserable.

Stiles was angry, _so angry_. Derek’s hot-and-cold game was uncalled for, firing him and pushing him away just to yank him back even closer and immediately push him away again. Stiles never had met a more infuriating man before. Which was probably why he liked Derek so much.

He decided that it was pretty pointless to deny the fact that he had developed feelings for Derek any longer. Stiles had found himself falling for Derek slowly each day he stayed in the apartment, seeing a completely different side to him. A side of himself Derek never showed anyone else, but he’d shown it to Stiles. Sometimes when Stiles closed his eyes, he could still hear Derek’s voice reading to him, the rumble and the cadence deep in his chest beneath his ear. 

But Stiles was pissed. No matter how he felt about Derek, no matter how much Derek pretended to be protecting him, he deserved better.

Which was why he had refused to go to the Sour Wolf for the past five days. Scott had come by the second day and told him that the Pack had been asking for him, that Derek had kept glancing at the door every so often. But Stiles wasn’t ready to forgive him just yet.

He sat around the house, listening to the radio and cooking dinner while filling out crossword puzzles. The lock turned in the door, and Stiles looked at it in surprise. His dad wasn’t supposed to be home for hours, and for a moment, terror seized him that those men were going to come after him. But his dad stepped through the door, dressed in his uniform, looking tired and worn out as usual.

“Hey, Dad,” Stiles said. “Didn’t expect you home for awhile.”

The sheriff eyed Stiles carefully as he sat down in the armchair in the living room. “Thought you’d be at work.”

“Oh, yeah, we got off early today.” Stiles shrugged.

“You’re lying.”

Stiles watched his father, trying to remain calm. “Um, pretty sure I’m not,” he laughed, “why would you say that?”

“You haven’t worked at the docks in over a month. I went down there and asked around for those Italian guys. Come to find out, there was no fight because you don’t work there.”

Stiles stared at the sheriff, mouth hanging open. He didn’t know what to say, couldn’t even come with a good lie.

“I saw the limp,” the sheriff said. “Takes one hell of a beating to cause a limp.” He ran a hand through his hair and let out an exasperated breath. “What in the hell is going on, Stiles, cause I can’t seem to figure it out.”

“Dad, believe me when I say I’d like to tell you – “

“No,” the sheriff said. He pointed his finger at Stiles. “You are not going to give me some bullshit about how you can’t tell me. You will tell me, or else.”

“Dad, I really can’t tell you,” Stiles said pathetically. “As much as I want to.”

“Is it something illegal?” the sheriff asked.

“You don’t want to know.”

“Goddamit, Stiles!” the sheriff exclaimed, launching himself out of the chair. “What do you think you’re doing? You will tell me what you’re into, and we will fix whatever it is before it’s unfixable!”

“Dad, I swear I can’t, just trust me – “

“Trust you? TRUST YOU?” the sheriff yelled. “How do you expect me to trust you? You’ve been lying to me for over a month, getting Scott to lie to me while you were doing god knows what and getting beat up!”

“Dad, please, just try to understand – “ Stiles begged.

His father shook his head. “Nope. I’m not having this under my roof. Either you tell me what is going on and put an end to it, or get out of my house.”

Stiles felt all the blood drain from his body as he staved off a panic attack. This couldn’t be happening, this _could not be happening_. “Dad, you can’t be serious,” Stiles said, tears in his eyes as he stood up from the sofa. 

“I’m dead serious,” the sheriff responded, looking at Stiles with the look he used on criminals. He’d never looked at Stiles that way before.

“Fine,” Stiles said, rushing into his room. He grabbed a bag and stuffed the first things he could lay his hands on inside the bag. He sniffed, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand as he zipped the bag and walked through the house. The sheriff was already standing at the door, holding it open. 

“You did this to yourself,” the sheriff said as Stiles walked across the threshold.

“No, you’re the one who kicked your son out,” Stiles replied. 

The sheriff slammed the door behind him.

*

Stiles walked aimlessly around Brooklyn with nowhere to go. Scott wasn’t at home, which wasn’t surprising since he hadn’t been staying there since he’d started seeing Isaac, and Stiles had no idea where Isaac lived. Not that he’d want to go crawling to one of the Pack, begging them to let him sleep on their couch. Well, not this moment anyway. Maybe later tonight after the sun started going down, but not right now. Stiles still had his dignity.

But that was all moot since he didn’t know where anyone lived. Well, that wasn’t true. He knew where Cora lived, but Cora lived with Derek, so that option was COMPLETELY out. The last person he was going to go begging for a place to live was Derek Hale.

He ended up at the theater anyway. Because taking his job back at the Sour Wolf wasn’t begging for a place to sleep or admitting he was homeless because his dad kicked him out. It was doing what Derek wanted him to do days ago.

Stiles walked into the theater and stuffed his bag in one of the upstairs rooms before knocking on Derek’s office door. Derek yelled for him to come in, and Stiles took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves, before stepping inside.

“Stiles,” Derek said, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“You said I still had a job, if I wanted it.” Derek nodded. “Well, I want it.”

“Okay.” Derek glanced down at Stiles’ leg. “How are you healing?”

“Almost one hundred percent,” he answered, “But my leg still tires pretty easily.”

“Sit,” Derek instructed as he stood up and opened a cabinet behind him. Stiles watched him curiously as he took his seat. Derek dropped a file on the desk. “I want you to be in charge of my ledgers, _both_ my ledgers.”

“You’re trusting me with your money?” Derek nodded, and Stiles didn’t know what to say.

“They’re pretty up to date, but I’m not a business mind. That was Laura, so they’ve fallen into a bit of a mess since she was killed.” Stiles slowly reached for the file and opened it. It contained receipts, bills of payment, and other assorted paperwork. Derek opened his desk drawer, pulled out a leather bound book, and handed it to Stiles. Then, he went to a safe and pulled another from inside. Before Derek shut the safe, Stiles caught a glimpse of guns and stacks of cash. “Here are both ledgers. You are not to remove them from this office or your own, and this one,” he said, putting his finger on the book he pulled from the safe, “must be locked up before you leave every day.”

“Anything particular you want me to do?” 

Derek shrugged. “Just make sure my bills get paid.”

Stiles pointed to the files. “Do you mind if I start now?”

Derek shook his head and stood up, gathering the two volumes. He led Stiles down the hall to an empty room. It was sparsely furnished, but had a desk and a chair. “You can use this office. Do with it what you will; let me know if you have any questions.”

Stiles worked all afternoon, obsessively organizing the paperwork into a workable system for himself before starting to reconcile the books. The work kept his mind off what happened with his dad, off the fact that he had nowhere to go tonight.

He didn’t even know how much time had passed until Derek came into the room, carrying a takeout container. “Thought you might be hungry,” Derek said, putting the bag on the desk. “It’s from the diner down the street.”

Stiles glanced at the clock, surprised that it was after seven p.m. “I didn’t know it was so late,” he said right as his stomach growled. “It’s like you read my stomach’s mind.” Stiles grinned as he took the bag and pulled out the container.

“Well, enjoy,” Derek said awkwardly, leaving the room before Stiles had a chance to say anything to him.

Stiles sighed. So, he guessed that part hadn’t changed.

*

Stiles went to collect his bag from the room down the hall when a thought occurred to him. He could easily stay in the theater. His scent was already all over the floor since he was now working there, so Derek wouldn’t think anything about it when he smelled him. He had a key to the theater, so he could enter and exit as needed. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought about it before.

Stiles left the theater and waited until he knew Derek was downstairs before going back inside. But instead of going downstairs to the Sour Wolf, he went upstairs to find himself a new room. He poked around the different rooms, and discovered a stairway leading to the attic. The attic was dusty, and it was obvious no one had been up there in a long time. The space was used for storage, and stacks of boxes lined the walls. An old chaise lounge covered in about an inch of dust was shoved in a corner with boxes piled on top of it. 

Stiles cleared off the chaise lounge, and rifled through the boxes until he found something he could use as a rag. He spent an hour scrubbing the piece of furniture, cleaning it until it looked brand new, the gold color of the cushion bright and vibrant. Stiles also found some old quilts in a box, and soon, he had himself a bed.

He curled on the chaise lounge, the sound from the movies and voices outside the theater floating inside the otherwise quiet room. Stiles tried not to think about his dad, all alone in the apartment, eating and drinking god knows what. 

Stiles wondered if all this was worth it. If he was prepared to give up his father. But he wasn’t sure he was prepared to give up all this either. People he cared about, who cared about him, a place he belonged. Derek had doubled his pay, and this job was something he knew he could be good at. Numbers and business – he’d always understood those things. And now he got to use it. 

While he lay there, trying to fall asleep, he made a decision. He had to fix things with his dad, because no matter what happened, he was not losing his dad, too. He would find a way. He had to.

*

Living at the theater became easy. Derek never suspected anything, and Stiles had everything he needed right there. He ate at the surrounding restaurants, and after a few days, went to the supermarket and bought groceries he could keep upstairs.

His job was fun. Yeah, Stiles knew he was a bit crazy for thinking that balancing books and going over a bootlegger’s ledgers was fun, but it was. The numbers were like a huge puzzle that Stiles had to figure out. 

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Stiles asked on the third day. He poked his head through the door, and Derek looked up from whatever he was reading on the desk. Derek sat back and waved him in, and Stiles pulled the chair around the desk so he could sit beside Derek. Derek stared at him like he was crazy, and Stiles blushed. “It’s easier if we’re side by side; I have a lot to show you.” Derek gave him a brusque nod.

“The ledger for the theater is mostly fine,” Stiles started, opening the other ledger. “But the one for everything under the table? Not so fine.” Stiles pointed to a figure as Derek leaned closer. “For example, the guy you’re buying bottles from is screwing you. I checked around; we can find glass for half this price.” He moved on to the next item. “The guy who prints the labels charges you and Chris three times what he does his other customers.”

Derek sighed and ran a hand over his face, then leaned his chin on the heel of his hand. Stiles watched as his fingers tapped a rhythm against his face. “How did this happen? Laura was so much better at this.” The frustration was clear on Derek’s face, in the deep lines around his eyes and mouth. 

“It was happening when she was alive, too,” Stiles said. “I checked the books and receipts. You’re losing money.”

Derek bent closer to the book, his body closer to Stiles as he scanned over Stiles’ work. Stiles tried to keep his heartbeat normal, tried to be professional when all he really wanted to do was reach out and curl his hand into the soft hairs at the nape of Derek’s neck. “What do I do? Should I go beat people until they give me a better rate?”

“Um, I’d prefer you not to?” Stiles laughed awkwardly. “There are other bottle suppliers and label printers. I’ve already compiled you a list.” Stiles tapped the notepad sitting to the side. Derek glanced over at it, then looked up at Stiles. Their faces were mere inches from one another, so close that Stiles could just move slightly and touch Derek’s lips with his own. His eyes flicked to Derek’s mouth, traced the outline of the dip and slight down curve of his top lip, took in the full, pink bottom lip. He swallowed and looked back up. Derek’s eyes were burning into him intensely.

“What else did you find out?” Derek asked, voice low and slightly hoarse.

“Chris is skimming off the top,” Stiles blurted. Dammit, he’d meant to relay that a tad bit differently.

“I know,” Derek said, and Stiles wondered why he wasn’t moving away. Stiles’ eyes slid down Derek’s face, at the dark stubble on his cheeks, the way his nose flared occasionally. “He’s been doing it for about a year. I just consider it a bonus.”

“Oh,” Stiles said. His eyes were back on Derek’s mouth, and he wondered what it’d feel like to feel Derek’s lips pressed against his mouth, dragging across his skin. “The foreman at the new distillery in Pennsylvania is skimming off the top, too.”

“What?” Derek growled, straightening up as he glared at the ledger. Stiles sighed; why did he have to open his big mouth and ruin the moment? He was kind of hoping that if he’d just hovered there for a few more moments, Derek would have kissed him. No chance of that now.

“Yeah, fifty here, a hundred there.”

“I _will_ deal with him,” Derek said. “Anything else?”

“Um,” Stiles looked at the ledger hastily, trying to gather his wits about him. Being so close to Derek had thrown him completely off-kilter. “Nope, I think that’s it for now.”

Derek got up and said, “Thanks,” as he walked towards the door. As soon as he was out of the door, Stiles dropped his head and sighed.

He was the biggest idiot on the planet.

*

That night, Stiles ended up downstairs. Erica wasn’t working because she was in Boston with Chris, and Allison and Derek were swamped. After seeing Derek growl at his third patron, Stiles went around behind the bar.

“Stiles, what are you doing?” Derek barked as he mixed a gin fizz. 

“Whatever you need,” Stiles said, grabbing a few teacups off the back counter and setting them up for Allison. She gave him a quick smile before filling them. He collected the patron’s money while she made the drinks. “I think you’re a little swamped tonight.”

“Fine,” Derek said. “Just leave the actual drink making to me and Allison.” 

Stiles grabbed clean teacups, handed Derek and Allison the correct mixers and bottles of liquor, cut more limes when they ran out, and collected money. When they had a lull in business, Derek pulled out a teacup, a bottle of orange juice, and a bottle of vodka.

“Pay attention,” Derek ordered. Stiles nodded, watching raptly as Derek’s hands maneuvered the bottles with confidence. It was hot. Derek’s hands were hot. Everything about Derek was hot, especially when those strong hands untwisted the cap on the bottle. “You follow the same formula I’m about to show you for half the drink menu.” Derek listed them off. “If someone orders one of those, you can make it.”

“You’re actually going to let me mix drinks?” Stiles asked excitedly, flailing around until he almost knocked off the orange juice bottle. “Whoops.”

Derek sighed. “I’m starting to think this was a bad idea.”

“No!” Stiles exclaimed. “Best idea ever. The greatest. You’re a genius. Please let me be a bartender.”

“Watch, okay? If you fuck up, you’re back to mopping the floors.”

“So testy,” Stiles said, crowding up behind Derek maybe just a little closer than need be, but Derek didn’t say anything. Stiles may have imagined it, but he was pretty sure that Derek leaned back into Stiles’ space. 

“Fill the cup with this much alcohol,” Derek said, pouring the cup about a third full. “Fill the rest with the single mixer. In this case, orange juice.” Derek pushed a cup towards Stiles. “You try.”

Stiles took the gin, filled the cup a third of the way up – “That’s almost half,” “No, it’s not, let me finish,” “You’re doing it wrong,” “Well, you’re making me nervous!” – and then filled the rest with pineapple juice. Derek took a sip, and then nodded.

“A little less liquor next time, but mostly fine.”

“I’m the bee’s knees,” Stiles said, grinning widely. “It’s cause I’m the bee’s knees, right?”

“You’re something, all right.”

Allison and Derek passed all the easy drinks to Stiles, who found himself having the time of his life as he mixed drinks and flirted with customers. Cora’s set in the background was upbeat and happy, Isaac’s piano playing impressive and lively tonight. The dance floor was alive with couples dancing a variety of dances, and Stiles caught a glimpse of Lydia’s red hair, and then Scott as he danced with a woman near the edge.

After the rush died down, Stiles stayed behind the bar so Allison could dance with Lydia. Stiles looked over at Derek and shot him a smug smile. Derek rolled his eyes as he dried a cup with a towel.

“Admit it, I did good.”

“You were okay.”

“Okay?” Stiles exclaimed. “I was the best.”

“The bee’s knees?” Derek teased.

“Yes, exactly.” Stiles grinned. “You should let me bartend for you more. Teach me the complicated drinks, and how to juggle bottles and stuff.”

“No.”

“Oh, come on, Derek! You need a night off, Allison and Erica need nights off.”

“You have a job,” Derek said as he picked up another cup.

“I still want to do that job. I’ll do this one, too.”

“We’ll see.” 

Stiles grinned. That was basically a yes.

*

Stiles stayed until after they closed for the night. Everyone had left except for him and Derek, because Stiles had put away the clean teacups after the dishwasher had brought them from the kitchen instead of leaving everything for Derek. Derek was walking around the club, putting chairs on the table, turning off lights, and locking up.

Stiles was humming quietly to himself, a song his mom used to play, while he crouched on the floor and put away cups. 

“What song is that?”

Stiles stretched his neck so he could glance at Derek over the counter. “Huh? Oh? That? A Verdi tune. It was my mother’s favorite. It’s been stuck in my head all day.”

“I like that song.”

“Me, too.” Stiles smiled.

Derek watched him for a moment before walking to the right, to a table with a phonograph. He put a record on and gently placed the needle down, the airy scratches resonating through the empty room. He turned up the volume, and held out his hand. 

Stiles stared at him in shock from where he crouched behind the bar. Derek was standing there, hand outstretched, backing towards the dance floor. Stiles wondered if he was seeing things, if Derek – _Derek_ \- was really doing what Stiles thought he was doing. Stiles had a moment to decide, and a breath later, he was crossing the floor to join him.

He put his hand in Derek’s waiting one, and Derek led Stiles onto the empty dance floor. The dance floor was dim, the only light the small bit that had crept from behind the bar. Somehow, Stiles felt this was all easier in the dark. Derek pulled him close, lifting their hands shoulder high and wrapping his arm around Stiles’ waist. Stiles hesitantly laid his hand on Derek’s shoulder. With a soft step to the side, they were dancing. 

They fell into a slow rhythm, their bodies pressed close and warm, Derek’s hand strong and sure in Stiles’. Derek’s face was so close to his own that he could feel the hairs from his head brush against his skin, hear the quiet exhalations of his breath. Stiles wasn’t a good dancer, but it didn’t matter. Their bodies swayed together, side to side, the slow pianos, trumpets, and percussion guiding them along.

The song changed, and Derek dropped the hand from Stiles’ back. Stiles felt disappointed that it was already over, but Derek surprised him by leading Stiles back at arm’s length. He lifted his arm, watching him closely in the dim light, his eyes shining as his hand urged Stiles in a circle. Stiles laughed at the silliness of it all, at him twirling underneath Derek’s uplifted arm. When he was facing Derek again, he started spinning, curling himself into Derek’s embrace until his back was pressed against Derek, Derek’s arm wrapped around him tight. They stayed like that for a few beats, Derek’s free hand settling on Stiles’ hip, his hot breath against Stiles’ ear. Derek tugged at Stiles’ hand, spinning him back out then pulling him in again, their bodies pressed closer than before. Derek leaned his head against Stiles’, their cheeks together. He could feel when Derek swallowed, feel the rough stubble scraping against his cheek. 

The song ended, and this time Derek did let him go. Stiles stood there, unsure of what to do, what to feel, what to think. Derek walked behind the bar without a word. 

Stiles made for the door, grabbing his jacket and cap from the rack by the door before leaving.

“Thanks for the dance,” Derek said from behind the bar, his voice soft and low. Stiles turned around, met Derek’s eyes for a moment, and then walked out of the door. He felt like he was in a daze as he walked upstairs to the attic.

Stiles realized there was absolutely no going back now.

*

Stiles was walking idly around the theater before going down to the speakeasy. He heard Derek’s voice from his office and crept up to it quietly. He strained his ear to listen.

“It’ll be taken care of,” Derek said. Then he said some things Stiles couldn’t hear, and then he said, “The shipment’s coming in tomorrow…I’m going there tonight.” Stiles craned his neck to see if he could hear where Derek was going. The door suddenly snatched open, and Derek glared down at him, eyes red. Stiles squeaked in fear, then covered his mouth in embarrassment.

“What the hell are you doing?” Derek asked. “I’m convinced you have some twisted death wish.”

“I, um, wanted to ask you about the price of crates.”

“You’re lying,” Derek said flatly, his eyes returning to normal. “What do you want?”

“Where are you going tonight?”

“Nowhere.” Derek turned and walked back into his office, and Stiles followed him. He glanced around the room, eyes catching sight of the bag lying on the floor. 

“You’re staying overnight?”

Derek glanced at the bag and then back at Stiles. “No.”

“You are, your bag is right there and you said the shipment – “

“I mean, no, you’re not coming with me.” Derek went over to his desk, gathered a few papers, and put them into a drawer before locking it. Then he walked over to the coat rack and slipped on his coat. “So, you can leave.”

“Chris and Erica are in Boston, Boyd’s watching the door, and Isaac’s playing Cora’s show tonight. You’re doing whatever it is alone,” Stiles said.

“Maybe I’m taking Allison or Lydia,” Derek said as he placed his hat on his head.

“Not if you’re not tending bar tonight,” Stiles pointed out. “Let me go with you. You should never do anything by yourself, especially shipments. You always need back up, a wing man.”

Derek stared at him in amusement. “And you think you should be my back up?”

“Why not?” Stiles asked. “Please? I may not be good in a fight, but I’m squirrely and can think on my feet.”

Derek sighed and picked up his bag. “Meet me out back in five minutes, or I’m leaving without you.”

Stiles grinned and ran upstairs when Derek was out of view. He met Derek downstairs in three. 

*

“I’ve never been to Pennsylvania,” Stiles said as they drove through the countryside.

“I’m so surprised,” Derek said sarcastically.

“Hey!” Stiles exclaimed. “What are you trying to say?”

“You don’t exactly scream well-traveled, Stiles,” Derek said, eyes trained on the road.

“I could be. Are you implying I’m some kind of hayseed?”

“I’m not implying.” Stiles scoffed, but warmed at the slight upturn of Derek’s mouth.

Derek got them a shared room at a small hotel, and Stiles looked around in excitement at the room as he dropped his bag on the twin bed. “Why do you look so excited?” Derek asked.

“I’ve never been to a hotel before,” he said. He looked at Derek and grinned. “This is the bee’s knees.”

“You think everything is the bee’s knees,” Derek grumbled, rolling his eyes. Stiles leapt onto the bed and stretched out. “I’ve got to go out. Don’t go anywhere.”

“What about if I get hungry?” Stiles asked.

“We’ve already had dinner.” Derek glared at him. “Don’t leave this room. That’s an order.”

The thing was, Stiles wasn’t good at just sitting around. Or following orders. Really, Derek should know that by now. He didn’t understand how Derek expected him to sit there anyway; hadn’t he learned anything about Stiles yet?

Stiles put on his coat and newsboy cap and walked outside. The air was crisp even though it was summer as Stiles walked. The town was small, barely more than few businesses and a hotel for travelers passing through. Stiles heard a train, so he hurried towards the train tracks excitedly.

He arrived just in time to watch the train pulling out of the station. Stiles dropped onto the grass so he could watch the cars roll by. He wondered how they were supposed to collect the shipment the next day, what kind of things they were collecting. Derek hadn’t said, had changed the subject every time Stiles had asked. He wondered if it was some big liquor shipment he was afraid might get intercepted by the cops. That made him think of his dad, and he wondered how he was doing. Stiles missed him a lot, and he wondered how disappointed his dad would be if he knew Stiles was going to be transporting illegal smuggled goods tomorrow.

Just as the last cars were passing by, movement caught Stiles’ attention. He turned his head and saw two people talking down the tracks. Inquisitive as he was, he quietly got up and crept towards the two people. Warning bells were going off inside of his head, telling him that he shouldn’t be out there in the first place, that Derek was going to be pissed, that nothing good ever happened in the middle of the night by train tracks.

Then, a shot rang out. Stiles made a noise as one of the men fell to the ground. Even in the dark, he could see the other man look in his direction, and Stiles did the only thing he knew how to do.

He ran.

Stiles made it over the hill before something knocked him to the ground and then yanked him onto his back, a gun pressed to his forehead.

“Get off me!” Stiles yelled, kicking out with his arms and legs as his attacker held him down.

“Stiles?” Stiles opened his eyes and found Derek crouching over him, eyes blood red and fangs extended. He looked fucking terrifying, and Stiles cowered in fear. “What in the hell are you doing here? I told you to stay in the hotel room.”

“I got bored,” Stiles said, and Derek growled.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Derek snapped, jumping up from Stiles. 

Stiles pushed himself up, his head spinning. “You shot that man,” he said stupidly.

“Go back to the hotel room,” Derek ordered, voice like ice. “Go back to the hotel room and don’t come out.”

Stiles looked at Derek in the darkness, two red orbs the only thing visible in the night. “You shot a man.”

“Stiles,” Derek said, grabbing Stiles by the arms so hard Stiles thought it would bruise. “You need to leave, now.” Derek turned him around and pushed him a few steps, and when Stiles glanced back over his shoulder, he was gone.

But Stiles had already seen it; it had been burned onto his brain.

Derek was a killer.

*

The stench of Stiles’ fear and revulsion stuck in Derek’s nose. He tried to ignore it as he dragged the man’s body away from the train tracks, deep into the nearby woods. 

Stiles wasn’t even supposed to be there, and Derek should have _never_ let him come along. Not when he was stealing a Wolfsbane shipment from hunters tomorrow, not when he had a hit to carry out for Peter. But Stiles had been so eager, and he’d smelled _so perfect_ , and Derek had found himself increasingly less and less resistant to Stiles as the days went by. 

Hiring Stiles had been a terrible idea. Not kicking Stiles out the first night he showed up in the speakeasy had been a terrible idea. And now Derek was paying for it. 

Because Stiles found out the one thing Derek never wanted him to find out, had discovered the blood that stained Derek’s hands every single day. 

Derek had tainted Stiles’ goodness with his demons.

Derek rushed back to the hotel, hoping that Stiles was still there. He didn’t care what happened to him if Stiles told the police; he was terrified what would happen to Stiles. Peter was not a forgiving man.

Stiles was sitting on the edge of the bed when Derek stormed through the door, his head resting in his hands. He didn’t even look up when Derek walked inside. Derek inhaled, and Stiles just smelled like _fear_. 

Derek pulled off his coat and hat before going into the bathroom to wash the dirt and blood from his hands. When he was finished, he stepped into the room and leaned against the doorframe.

“Are you going to kill me now?” Stiles asked through his hands.

“No.”

Stiles lifted his head and looked at Derek, his eyes pained. “What did that man do?”

“I don’t ask questions,” Derek said.

“Why?”

“It gets you killed.”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t ask the men like my boss to explain themselves.”

Stiles shook his head. “No, I mean why do you do it?”

“Because I have to.”

Stiles looked at him for a few moments, his brain calculating as the pieces fell into place. “Your uncle, Peter Hale, the one connected with the mob, right?” Derek didn’t say anything, and Stiles took his silence as confirmation. “That’s where the money came from in the ledgers, when large deposits just appeared.”

“Owing favors to men like him…” Derek trailed off, unsure he wanted to continue. 

“Does Cora know?” 

Derek shook his head. “No one knows.”

“Except me.”

Derek felt something inside him break, and he realized this moment was why he never got attached, why he never got involved, why he fucked faceless hookers. They didn’t look at him they way Stiles was looking at him.

“You were never supposed to get involved,” Derek said quietly, his voice deep and strained. “You were never supposed to happen at all. I…I never wanted you to know the truth.”

“You wanted me to remain ignorant?” Stiles spat.

Derek shook his head and looked at the floor. “No. I just never wanted you to know that I was a monster.”

Derek heard the bed squeak and the floor boards groan as Stiles walked across the room. He stopped right in front of Derek, his body heat burning into Derek, his heartbeat racing in his chest, his emotions so scrambled Derek couldn’t figure out what was going on in his head.

When Derek looked up at him, he was taken aback. Stiles was looking at him tenderly, with more sympathy and understanding than he deserved. “What are you doing?” Derek managed, his voice wrecked.

“You’re not a monster, Derek,” Stiles said quietly.

“You’re wrong.”

“I know you,” Stiles whispered, his warm breath ghosting across Derek’s cheek. “I know you did all this to support your sisters, to protect them, protect your Pack.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” Derek said harshly.

“I know enough,” Stiles said. “I know that I can’t stand to be away from you, that I can’t bear the thought of you not being in my life.” Derek closed his eyes, his head shaking. Stiles couldn’t be saying this, he just couldn’t. “I don’t care what you do. I know deep down you’re a good man, and I want to be with you.”

“Stiles,” Derek started hoarsely. He kept his eyes averted, trained on the rise and fall of Stiles’ chest, on the vein that jumped on his neck with every heartbeat. Stiles was so close, yet he couldn’t quite touch him, couldn’t cross the distance though his fingers ached to feel Stiles beneath them. “I can’t.”

“Why?” Stiles asked, his voice curling up and down Derek’s spine. Derek felt like the world had tilted on its axis, that it was spinning out of control. The air between them was filled with tension; Derek could feel it crackling on his skin.

He finally lifted his eyes. Stiles’ eyes were bright in the lamplight, shining with fierce determination as he spoke. The fear had evaporated from Stiles, replaced with something softer and much more dangerous. “I’ll destroy you,” Derek whispered.

Stiles shook his head. “No, you won’t.”

“I’ve already begun,” Derek said. “I can’t let anything else happen to you.”

“I’m fine,” Stiles said, his sweet, open smile shooting straight into Derek’s gut and twisting like a knife, leaving him raw and bleeding. 

“You don’t understand,” Derek pleaded. “You’re the only good thing in my life.”

Stiles shook his head. “You’re wrong. You have your Pack, your sister. They love you, Derek, unconditionally. Haven’t you figured that out?”

“But they’re not you,” Derek said. “I can’t lose you.”

“I’m right here, Derek,” Stiles said, moving closer so their bodies almost touched. “You haven’t lost me.”

“Stiles,” Derek said again in protest as his hands reached of their own accord for Stiles’ face. “I will. I lose everything.”

Stiles leaned forward then and pressed his lips against Derek’s. Derek resisted for a moment before everything came crashing down around him. He pulled Stiles against him, wrapping his arms around his body tightly as he kissed him. Derek couldn’t remember the last time he kissed someone, the last time he held someone he cared about. Stiles’ body was warm and solid in his arms, his hands running along Derek’s back comfortingly. Stiles’ mouth was perfect, soft and pliant as Derek kissed him. Although it was obvious that Stiles had no experience kissing, he was eager, and every movement of his tongue was perfection to Derek.

“You won’t lose me,” Stiles murmured against his mouth when he pulled away. His hands threaded into Derek’s hair, and Derek watched the way his eyelids fluttered when he closed his eyes. 

Derek lifted Stiles easily and laid him back on the bed, draping himself on top of Stiles as he recaptured his mouth. Derek kissed all across Stiles’ face and placed tiny nips down his neck, and when Derek licked against Stiles’ pulse point, felt his heart beat under his tongue, he felt himself shift.

“Derek?” Stiles asked when he felt Derek shudder. “Are you okay?” Derek lifted his face, and Stiles blinked in surprise as Derek braced himself for revulsion and fear. Stiles’ face quickly morphed into curiosity as he lifted his hand and dragged his fingertips over Derek’s wrinkled forehead, then brushed his fingers through the tufts of hair on his cheeks. A shiver ran down Derek’s spine as Stiles touched him, the exploratory presses more intimate than anything Derek had ever shared with anyone else.

Then Stiles pulled Derek’s lip back, revealing his fangs. Derek tried to turn his head, but Stiles pressed his palm against Derek’s cheek to keep his head in place as he carefully ran a finger down Derek’s canine. “You’re so beautiful,” Stiles said in awe. He lifted up and kissed Derek’s mouth gently, and Derek gained enough control to shift back to normal. He pressed Stiles back into the mattress and kissed him deeply.

Derek let himself go, his hands touching Stiles everywhere as he memorized the small sounds Stiles made as they kissed, the way his lips looked red and swollen when he pulled away. He licked the spread of color across his cheeks and down his neck, connected the dots of moles with his mouth as Stiles’ hands slid tentatively under his shirt, each touch across his skin like a livewire of electricity.

Derek let himself get consumed by Stiles, in every scent and touch and sound of him, although deep down Derek knew that he had just sentenced Stiles to death.


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles smiled. He was lying in bed under the blankets, Derek pressed up behind him, his strong arms around him. Stiles held one of Derek’s hands loosely in his own. He lifted Derek’s hand, their fingers laced, and studied the way their hands looked together. Derek’s hands were so much larger than his, though his own fingers were longer. Stiles dragged his free hand across the dark hair on Derek’s hand and arm, then put his own arm alongside Derek’s.

“What are you doing?” Derek smiled against his neck where his mouth had been for half an hour. Ever since they’d stripped down into their undershirts and underwear and gotten into bed, Derek’s mouth hadn’t left Stiles’ skin.

“Just looking.” Derek’s hair was darker and coarser than his own, his arms larger. Derek mouthed against his neck, open presses with his lips against Stiles’ neck. Every time Derek touched him, every time his stubble scraped against his skin, Stiles felt a shiver run through him. 

“See anything interesting?” Derek asked, hooking his chin over Stiles’ shoulder. They were pressed flush against one another, Stiles fitting perfectly against Derek, his butt resting against Derek’s hips, Derek’s bent legs snug beneath his own thighs. Derek was warm, and most of all, he felt _safe_.

Stiles almost made a run for it after he’d seen Derek shoot that man. This entire world he’d gotten himself mixed up in was more dangerous than he’d ever anticipated. But as he sat in the hotel room, terrified Derek would kill him, too, he realized just how deep his feelings for Derek went, because he _knew_ Derek wouldn’t hurt him, and he knew what Derek was, and he didn’t _care_. Stiles understood Derek, understood why he did what he did. He’d seen the books; he’d been at the hands of the men Derek faced. 

He still believed Derek was a good man, knew that this world he’d entered into was nothing but shades of grey and blurred lines. Maybe he was naïve, but he wasn’t willing to admit it if he was.

Derek turned and nuzzled his face into Stiles’ neck, causing Stiles to giggle softly. Stiles squirmed in Derek’s arms, and he caught Derek’s mouth over his shoulder when he twisted slightly. Their hands were hot and heavy against his chest where they were intertwined, and Derek’s lips and tongue were soft as Stiles kissed him. He still couldn’t believe he was kissing Derek, that they were doing this. Stiles hadn’t quite caught up yet.

Derek pushed Stiles onto his back gently and rolled on top of him, arms bracketed by his head. He trailed his fingers over the bruises he’d sucked into Stiles’ neck, into his chest. Stiles smiled as he looked up at Derek, so close and touchable. He reached out and ran his palm over the rough stubble, eyes raking over Derek’s flat hair, his soft, relaxed expression.

“I can’t believe I can just touch you,” Stiles said. He trailed his fingers over Derek’s thick eyebrows, then dragged his thumb over his lower lip. Stiles inhaled sharply when Derek sucked his thumb inside his mouth. “I just want to memorize everything. You’re fascinating.”

Derek raised an eyebrow and nipped at Stiles’ thumb before dropping it from his mouth. “You’re the fascinating one,” Derek said, his fingers connecting the dots on Stiles cheek and neck. “I still can’t figure you out, figure out what you’re doing here.”

“Why?” Stiles asked. “Please tell me you don’t still think I’m a rat.”

Derek’s expression was sour. “How can you ask that? I don’t make it a habit of inviting rats into my bed.”

“I thought you preferred prostitutes,” Stiles asked, trying to seem nonchalant. He’d thought about it, Derek’s experience with prostitutes. It made Stiles’ stomach turn to think about Derek with men like the ones Stiles had been offered in the Bowery. 

Derek carded his fingers through Stiles’ hair, then leaned down and brushed his lips against Stiles’. “I prefer you.” Derek rolled off him and they settled back together, Derek snuggling him from behind as Stiles loosely held his hand in front of him. Derek hooked his finger under the collar of Stiles’ t-shirt and tugged it aside to kiss and lick at the skin of his shoulder.

Stiles was sliding his fingers down each of Derek’s larger ones when he asked, “How many men have you killed?” Derek tensed behind him, his mouth stilling on his skin. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to tell me.”

“For Peter? Or in general?” Derek asked, voice so quiet Stiles wouldn’t be able to hear it unless it was right against his ear.

“Um, wow, wasn’t expecting that.” Stiles craned his head over his shoulder. Derek looked like he expected Stiles to jump out of the bed and run away. Stiles wiggled around until he was facing Derek, and he curled his hand around the side of Derek’s neck. “I’m not going to leave you.”

“You should.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I’m aware of that. You’ve made that extremely clear, but it’s not going to happen, so just get used to having me around.” Stiles leaned forward and dragged his nose against Derek’s. 

“You deserve to know the truth about me,” Derek said, “so you know what you’re getting yourself into.” Stiles watched the way Derek’s eyes and face shifted as he tried to find words. “I’ve been working for Peter for almost six years. My mother was killed, just like Laura.” Stiles’ mouth dropped, and he rubbed his thumb across Derek’s neck gently, his heart aching for him. “Hunters, probably, but maybe werewolves. We don’t know. Peter and I are looking for their killers.”

“Is that who took me?” Stiles asked quietly.

Derek shrugged, his hand sliding around Stiles’ hip and underneath the back of Stiles’ shirt. Derek’s large, warm palm against his back was soothing in a way he’d never felt before. “Probably, but I don’t know for sure.” Derek stared at Stiles for a few moments, like he was trying to decide something. “Do you want to know everything?”

“Do you want to tell me everything?”

Derek nodded. “Yes.”

“Because you want me to run away?” Stiles asked.

“Because I want you to know everything about me, the good and the bad; because I want you to stay with me even after you know everything. Because I want you to be the one person I don’t have to hide from.”

So, Derek told him everything: Kate, the men he’d killed for Peter, for Laura and even Stiles, what he’d done to protect his Pack and his family. The blood on his hands, a litany of crimes and bad deeds.

When Derek was finished talking, his head lying on Stiles’ shoulder with his face nuzzled against his neck, Stiles realized he didn’t care. He didn’t care who Derek had killed, what he had stolen. All he cared about was that Derek was in his arms, and for once, Derek didn’t have to be alone.

*

Stiles blinked his eyes against the sun shining through the curtains. Derek’s arms were wrapped around him, keeping him in a cocoon of warmth. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the feeling of Derek’s breath against his neck as he breathed deeply, the slight twitches of his limbs every few minutes, the beating of his heartbeat. This was real; Stiles had spent the night in Derek’s arms, had woken up beside him.

“Morning,” Derek finally said, voice gravelly with sleep. The sound shot straight through Stiles and curled through his limbs. Derek nosed around the nape of his neck, burying his face in Stiles’ hair. Stiles leaned back into Derek’s body, and Derek rolled his hips instinctually.

“Oh,” Stiles exclaimed, and Derek moved away, but Stiles grabbed his arm. “It’s okay. I have the same problem.”

“I know,” Derek said, curling back around Stiles. Now, Stiles was painfully aware of Derek’s morning erection pressing against his back. His own had had time to go down, but he was still half-hard. “I can smell it.”

“You can smell that?” Stiles craned his neck over his shoulder. He could only see part of Derek’s profile; his eyes were closed, his hair a mess, as he pressed his face into Stiles’ neck. “That’s embarrassing.” 

Derek rolled his hips again. “Not embarrassing.” Derek started kissing the back of Stiles’ neck, his nails scratching lightly against Stiles’ belly under his t-shirt. 

Stiles started to panic. He wasn’t sure how these things went (well, he had an _idea_ \- Scott had told him things about what he and Isaac did, and Stiles _had_ been to a whorehouse). Derek had sex with prostitutes, so maybe he just expected Stiles to have sex with him. While Stiles wasn’t opposed to having sex with Derek, he wasn’t sure he was ready _right this second_. Just twelve hours ago, Stiles had barely kissed a man. The novelty of the kissing hadn’t worn off yet; he was kind of enjoying that part.

“Calm down,” Derek’s muffled voice sounded behind him. “I’m not going to make you do anything.” Stiles felt a flush of embarrassment at Derek’s words. Derek removed his head from its resting place between Stiles’ shoulders and leaned close to lick a long, wet stripe behind Stiles’ ear that made him moan. “When I fuck you for the first time, it won’t be on a cheap hotel bed, I promise you that.” He licked behind Stiles’ ear once more, Stiles moaning without shame, before he tugged the lobe between his teeth. 

When Derek rearranged them so he was lying on top of Stiles, Stiles groaned at the feel of his own stirring cock between them and Derek’s erection against his leg. “If you want, that is.”

Stiles’ brain was too busy short-circuiting for him to understand what Derek said. Oh so eloquently, he said, “Huh?”

Derek chuckled, his entire face lit up with the simple gesture. The morning sun glowed around his head, bringing out the flecks of gold in his eyes. “Only if you want to have sex,” Derek said. “We don’t have to.”

“Why wouldn’t we?” Stiles asked, confused. 

Derek shrugged. “Not everyone is comfortable with it.”

“I’ve never had it, but I’m absolutely comfortable with the idea.” 

Derek cocked his head to the side and studied Stiles carefully. “What about the guy from the Bowery? When Isaac took you to that club?”

“You remember that?” Stiles asked. He swore he saw a faint blush on Derek’s cheeks as he nodded. “I’ve never been opposed to sex. I was opposed to being alone.” He lifted his hand and cupped Derek’s face. “I’m not alone now.”

Derek leaned down and kissed him passionately, and Stiles moaned into his mouth as Derek’s hands moved over his neck and arms, and his tongue slid inside his mouth. Definitely wasn’t over the kissing yet.

*

Derek looked over nervously at Stiles again. Stiles rolled his eyes. “It will be fine, Derek. I’m not going to get killed by doing this with you.” Derek glared at him, but it didn’t scare him nearly as much as it used to. Not when he had two bruises underneath the collar of his shirt that Derek had put there earlier with his mouth.

“This isn’t a joke,” Derek said.

“I’m aware of that.”

“Then act like it.” Stiles huffed in irritation, and Derek reached out and curled his hand around Stiles’ neck. “I want you safe.”

“I’ll be fine. Stop worrying.”

They watched from the car as two guys unloaded the shipment into a large truck. They waited until the men had secured the crates in the truck and the train had started to roll away before getting out of the car. Derek had told Stiles to stay by the car while he knocked the two men unconscious.

Stiles crouched out of sight as Derek skirted around the train yard, using his werewolf senses to remain hidden and out of sight. Stiles fidgeted nervously, moving from one foot to the other as he watched Derek approach. 

Stiles heard a twig snap behind him. Immediately, he dropped to the ground and rolled away just as the shot hit the car where he’d been standing. Stiles rolled under the car as another shot landed on the ground. He tried to think, tried to figure out how to get out of this without getting shot. He did not intend to get injured again, not when his leg was still healing.

The man above him paused, and Stiles seized the opportunity. He grabbed the switchblade out of his pocket, the one he’d been carrying with him since he got attacked, and held it in his hand at the ready. Just as Stiles predicted, the man bent down to peer under the car, his gun held loosely in his hand, but not aimed. As soon as his face came into view, Stiles shoved the switchblade into the man’s eye socket. The man howled in pain as blood spurted onto Stiles from the wound. Stiles grabbed the gun, now lying forgotten on the ground, and wrenched the switchblade out of the man’s face as he crawled to the other side of the car and jumped up.

Derek was wolfed out below, fighting off four men. Stiles didn’t think; he reacted. He slipped the switchblade into his pocket, and quickly wiped the blood off his hands before charging down the hill with the gun gripped in his hand. The closer he got to Derek, the more he realized Derek wasn’t fighting off four men; he was surrounded by them. 

“Hey!” Stiles yelled, trying to draw the attention away from Derek. The distraction was enough for Derek to immobilize the man closest to him, but two stayed on him while one came towards Stiles. 

Stiles was glad people underestimated him. It worked to his advantage in these situations. He raised the gun and pulled the trigger, getting the man in his right side. He fell to the ground, and Stiles shot another round towards the men surrounding Derek, but it missed the mark and hit the ground.

“Deal with the boy!” the man near Derek said, and before Stiles had a chance to shoot, the man had advanced on him and grabbed him. Stiles struggled, but he was easily twice Stiles’ size. He had Stiles’ arms pulled back behind him, hard enough that Stiles hoped he wouldn’t pull them out of joint. 

He dragged Stiles over beside Derek, where he got the first good look at him. He was wolfed out, but black sludge was pouring out of his eyes, nose, and mouth, the veins in his arms tinted black. Derek looked feral, like he barely recognized Stile, his red eyes swirling around quickly. But when he sniffed the air, Derek looked in Stiles’ direction and then growled at the man standing over him.

“Good, now the boy can watch,” the man said. “Gerard wants the boy, thinks he might be of some use to us alive.” The man holding Stiles shoved him to the ground, but not before grabbing his gun. Stiles watched in horror as the man held a long sword out in front of him.

“What the fuck is that for?” Stiles asked. “Do you consider yourself some kind of fucking knight?” 

The man glanced down at Stiles, sneering. Maybe if Stiles could keep him talking, they could get out of this situation alive. He wasn’t sure how, but he sure as hell wasn’t giving up just yet. “A knight? Interesting choice of word.” The man turned back to Derek, who was snarling, his body weak as he leaked black stuff. Derek looked bad, like _really bad_. This was going wrong in all sorts of ways. Stile was pretty sure Derek was going to be of no help here. 

“We are knights of justice and good,” the man said. Stiles rolled his eyes, though the man’s loquacious streak was giving Stiles the time he needed. He reached into his pocket slowly so as not to attract attention, and grabbed the switchblade. “We protect the world from monsters, from werewolf scum.” The man kicked Derek in the stomach. “You will be my crowning achievement, Alpha Hale. When I bring Gerard your pelt, he will honor me above all other hunters.” He appraised the sword appreciatively. “I will skin you in front of this wolf whore, will break him until he does whatever we want.”

Stiles felt his stomach roil at the image, and he knew he had to act. He’d rather be dead than a slave to the hunters, and if Derek died…

Quickly, Stiles shoved the switchblade into the thigh of the man nearest him and twisted. The howl of pain was earsplitting, and he dropped his gun and Stiles quickly knocked it out of reach. The commotion was apparently enough to urge Derek into action because when Stiles turned around, Derek’s claws were buried deep inside the hunter’s stomach, blood gurgling from his mouth. The sword had fallen to the ground. Stiles jumped up and grabbed it, just in case. He had no clue how to wield a sword.

“Gerard will skin you both,” the man Stiles stabbed was saying as he collapsed in a pool of blood. Stiles had hit his mark – the artery in his leg. The man would bleed out in minutes. “You will wish we’d have killed you today, because he will skin the Alpha alive and make you listen to his screams.”

Stiles walked over to him and punched the man in the face. He yelled in pain as the man fell back because _holy fuck that hurt!_ Cradling his fist, he ran back over to Derek and dropped to his knees beside him.

“Derek!” he yelled, slapping Derek’s face. “Derek, please be okay. Don’t you dare fucking die on me!” Stiles punched Derek with his already sore fist, ignoring the pain as he tried to revive him. Finally, Derek’s eyes opened, blood red, and he held up a clawed hand to stop Stiles’ next punch from falling. He growled and glanced at Stiles, but seemed to realize he wasn’t a threat.

“Derek!” Stiles cried with relief. “Can you hear me?” Derek’s eyes were unfocused, and he was still oozing black stuff. “Fuck,” Stiles said as he grabbed Derek’s arm and slung it over his shoulder. He lifted Derek up, which was difficult since Derek was so much larger than him, and dragged him over to the front of the truck. He opened the door, and with great difficulty, he got Derek into the front seat. He ran back, grabbed the sword and tossed it in the truck, before running to Derek’s car to grab their bags. Derek’s car now had a busted window and a bullet hole in the side, so Stiles figured taking the truck and the shipment was a better idea. He hurried back to the truck and climbed into the driver’s side.

He had never driven before, but at least he’d paid some attention when his dad had taken him out in the police cruiser. After stalling out a few times, he finally got the truck going and back on the road. They were a couple of hours from New York, and he had no clue what to do. 

Stiles just hoped Derek lasted until they got to Brooklyn.

*

Derek was starting to smell, like really _smell_ , like _death_. Stiles glanced over to where Derek was slumped in the front seat, a steady stream of black ooze dripping from him and forming a pool around him. Stiles’ hands clenched around the steering wheel, and he noticed uncomfortably the blood dried and caked on his skin.

“Derek?” Stiles yelled. He’d been yelling Derek’s name every few minutes, but it was useless. He stirred a few times, but his only response was a growl. At one point, Derek had carried on a slurred conversation with Laura and his mother. Derek’s words hadn’t made sense, and Stiles was pretty sure he was hallucinating. “Hey, buddy, wake up.” Stiles reached out and shook him, and Derek groaned. At least he was still alive.

“You do _not_ get to die on me,” Stiles said, because he was nervous, edging near a panic attack, and still half an hour from Brooklyn. “Do you hear that, Derek? You do not get to die on me. Not when you _finally_ kissed me. I am _so_ not done kissing you yet, and you haven’t even touched my cock, and that is _so_ going to happen, okay, Derek? And you can’t touch my cock and I can’t touch your cock if you are DEAD!” Stiles yelled the last word, feeling the tears pricking his eyes. 

This was not going to happen. Derek was not going to die because they walked into some demented hunter’s trap where Derek ended up getting poisoned by something that made him bleed black. It wasn’t going to happen. 

Stiles did not find all this – did not find Derek – to lose it all now.

Stiles took Derek directly to the vet clinic, which he’d gotten to know quite well himself after his last encounter with hunters. _Fucking hunters_ , Stiles thought. He hated those bastards.

Stiles pulled to the back of the clinic and left Derek in the truck as he ran and banged on the back door. Doctor Deaton opened the door, and glanced at Stiles with concern.

“Mr. Stilinski?” he asked, wiping his hands on a rag. 

“It’s Derek. We got trapped by hunters, and he’s bleeding black, and – “

“Calm down, Stiles,” Deaton said as he walked towards the truck. Deaton’s face furrowed in concern when he opened the door and saw Derek’s condition, and Stiles tried to remain calm. Derek’s skin had turned pallid, and Stiles thought he looked dead. He stirred, his chest barely moving as he struggled to breathe. Stiles helped Deaton carry Derek inside the clinic and place him on a cold, metal table.

“Is he going to die?” Stiles asked as Derek rolled over and vomited black goo all over his shoes. “Oh my god, what the hell is that?” he exclaimed, holding on to the table for support in case his legs gave out. 

“His body is rejecting the wolfsbane, trying to heal itself,” Deaton said as he pulled various herbs from containers. “How long has he been like this?”

“Two, two and a half hours?” Stiles chewed his nail nervously. “We were in Pennsylvania.”

“Let me work, Mr. Stilinski,” Deaton said as he tried to move around the table. “Contact the Pack.”

“Is he going to die?” Stiles asked quietly.

Deaton didn’t look up from where he was bent over Derek’s body. “I’ll do what I can.”

Stiles went out into the reception area, which was thankfully empty, and called Cora. He tried to remain calm as he explained that Derek was at Deaton’s, that the Pack needed to get there fast. Cora disconnected the call without a word, and within ten minutes, they were stomping through the door, all except Erica and Chris, who were still in Boston.

“Where is he?” Cora yelled, her eyes gold. Actually, Boyd, Isaac, and Cora’s eyes were gold, and Stiles just stared. He’d never seen any of them shifted, even just their eyes. It caught him off guard for a moment, but he quickly recovered. “I demand to see my brother.”

“Cora, calm down,” Boyd said gently, his hand gently against her back. 

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” she growled, pulling her lip back and showing her fangs. They were smaller than Derek’s, Stiles noted. “He’s…” her voice cracked, and she crumbled into Boyd’s arms, sobbing quietly. “He’s all I’ve got left.”

“What happened?” Isaac asked, looking scared and shaken. Scott stood so close to Stiles that he was afraid Scott was going to climb onto his back. Scott reached out and squeezed his arm, and Stiles relaxed just a bit.

Stiles explained what happened to the Pack. He ran a hand through his hair and noticed for the first time his hands were shaking and still spotted with blood. They’d probably been shaking since he left the train station. 

“Sounds like aconite poisoning,” Cora said. “Oh god, he could die.”

Stiles stared at the floor, hands hanging between his knees as he sat between Scott and Lydia on the cheap couch in the waiting area. Stiles didn’t know Deaton had come out of the room until everyone else was on their feet. Allison extended her hand and helped him up with an understanding smile, then slipped her hand in his as he turned towards the vet.

“He’s fine,” Deaton said, though Stiles wasn’t so sure from the looks of him. Deaton was covered in black ooze and blood. “He’s conscious; you can go back and see him now.” Stiles waited outside as the Pack hurried inside, Scott hanging back beside him.

“Aren’t you going to see him?” Scott asked, looking at Stiles with concern. Stiles nodded, but remained rooted to the spot. The day was catching up with him, panic simmering underneath his skin like it had been all day. Plus, Stiles didn’t know where his place was now, what they were going to tell everyone, or even if there was anything to tell. They hadn’t gotten that far before the shit hit the fan.

Stiles took a deep breath and walked inside the examination room. The Pack was crowded around the table, obscuring Derek from view. Stiles hovered behind for a few moments before Isaac grabbed him and yanked him up to the table, beside Derek.

“Thank god you finally came into the room,” Isaac said in exasperation. “Derek was about to rip all our faces off because he didn’t believe you were safe.”

Stiles looked down at Derek, who looked pale and worn out, but alive. When his eyes fell on Stiles, the relief on his face was visible. Derek reached out and grabbed Stiles’ hand, and squeezed it. “You’re okay,” he said, his voice scratchy and hoarse. 

“You should be worrying about yourself, not me,” Stiles said, feeling a bit self-conscious now that the whole Pack was staring at him and Derek was holding his hand. “I’m not the one lying on a table,” he finished with a small smile.

“I’m fine,” Derek said, struggling to sit up, but Stiles held his shoulder down, shaking his head. “Stiles.”

“Derek,” Stiles said, shooting him a look that clearly said Derek wasn’t winning this one. “You need to rest.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Derek asked, dropping his voice slightly. His brows furrowed in worry as his thumb rubbed against the back of Stiles’ hand gently.

Stiles nodded, biting his lip to hide his smile. “I’m fine, you silly duck.”

“They’re so adorable!” Allison said, which snapped Derek and Stiles from their trance. They glanced behind them, where the whole Pack was watching. Stiles felt his face color.

“It’s about time,” Boyd muttered as Cora slapped his arm gently, but she looked delighted.

“Boyd, Isaac,” Derek said, this time managing to sit up with some help from Cora and Stiles. “You need to go to Pennsylvania, see if you can clean up any mess we left behind. See if you can get any scents on those guys. And then you need to do something with that shipment.”

“Sure,” Isaac said as Boyd nodded. When they left, the others also exited the room to give Derek and Stiles some privacy. 

Derek grabbed Stiles and pulled him close to him. He nuzzled his face against Stiles’ neck, and Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek’s bare shoulders, and held him close. Stiles was still trembling slightly, but he knew it was just left over adrenaline and nerves. 

“I was so scared,” Stiles said against Derek’s hair. He ran his hands through the sweaty strands, overcome that Derek was fine, that he was in his arms. “You…you didn’t even speak. You just growled and then you passed out, and you were _leaking_ , and – “

“I’m so sorry,” Derek said, shaking his head, which caused his stubble to drag against Stiles’ neck. It sent a shiver down his spine. “I never should have taken you with me, I should have – “

“Stop right there,” Stiles barked. He pulled away and stared hard at Derek. “You would have _died_ , Derek, that maniac would have _cut you in half_ ,” Stiles said, his voice breaking slightly over the last few words, “if I hadn’t have been there. I don’t care that I was in danger.”

“I can’t believe you fought off those hunters,” Derek said, fingers wrapping around Stiles’ arm. 

Stiles pursed his lips. “I’m not as useless as you people seem to think,” he said. “My dad taught me a thing or two about self-defense, and how to shoot a gun. Plus, I’ve been getting beat up for years.” He scratched his nails along Derek’s scalp, and Derek’s eyes fluttered shut. “I saved your life, so I guess that makes us even.”

“Deaton wants to keep me under observation for a few hours until he’s satisfied the wolfsbane is completely out of my system,” Derek said as he laid back on the tabletop. “Stay with me?”

“Wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

*

Derek refused to let Stiles go home alone and insisted on driving him. “I could have taken a cab,” Stiles grumbled from the front seat of one of Derek’s spare cars. How many cars did he own, anyway? “Or the subway. You were like, dead, not six hours ago.” Derek took his eyes off the road long enough to shoot him a quick glare. 

“I don’t want you walking around the city alone,” Derek said. “I don’t want you alone period. The only reason I’m letting you out of my sight – “

“I know,” Stiles cut in, “is because my dad is a cop. You’ve told me this a thousand times already.”

“It wasn’t a thousand,” Derek muttered.

“Fine, a hundred,” Stiles said, running a hand through his hair. This wasn’t good. Derek was taking him home, _to the apartment_ , where he didn’t live anymore. He had tried everything to convince Derek not to drive him home, but after everything that happened earlier, Derek refused to do anything else. He was surprised Derek hadn’t locked him up in his apartment just to keep him safe.

When Derek pulled up in front of the tenement, he pulled Stiles into a quick, but fierce, kiss. “I won’t leave until I know you’re upstairs, safe.”

Stiles groaned. “Derek, you’re being ridiculous.”

“Someone’s tried to kill us twice,” Derek said. “I’m not being ridiculous.” He pulled Stiles into another kiss, this one slower. When Stiles pulled away, he was breathless.

“I have neighbors, you know,” Stiles mumbled. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Get some rest.” Derek looked apprehensive as Stiles got out of the car, and Stiles gave him a reassuring smile before he closed the door and walked into the tenement.

Stiles walked up the stairs slowly, dread building in his stomach with each step nearer to his father. He hoped he was at work, hoped he wouldn’t be faced with his father’s wrath. Quietly, he let himself in the door and listened. He didn’t hear his father, so he made his way across the apartment and to the window. He pulled the curtain back and saw the car still idling by the sidewalk. Stiles gave a small wave before Derek drove away.

Stiles heard a sound from the living room and froze. But when he listened again, he heard the distinct sound of his father snoring. Silently, Stiles crept into the living room, where he found his dad asleep on the couch, a mostly empty bottle of liquor on the table by his head. 

Stiles’ heart wrenched. That bottle was new, he knew the last time his father had finished a bottle of alcohol was two months ago, and there wasn’t a drop in the house when he left last week. And now the bottle was mostly empty. 

His dad looked troubled and weary, even in his sleep. Stiles wanted to hug him, wanted to apologize and tell him he wanted to come back home. Instead, he spread a blanket over the sheriff and pulled his boots off, setting them on the floor out of the way. On his way to the kitchen, Stiles grabbed the bottle and sniffed it. It was the cheap stuff, probably bought from the grocer downstairs who made it in his back room. He wished he could tell his dad where to get the good stuff instead of this rotgut. Stiles poured it down the sink and tossed the bottle in the trash.

Stiles glanced through the cabinets and refrigerator and saw that they were empty, and he realized that his dad was basically subsisting on food from the nearby restaurants. Stiles pulled out the rice, beans, and other canned vegetables from the cabinets and spent the next hour cooking meals for his father, and then carefully covered them with foil and placed them in the refrigerator where they could be easily found. The sheriff could heat them up later.

*

“Are you going to tell us what’s going on?” Cora asked, crossing her arms as she glared down at Derek. Isaac and Boyd were also there, staring at him with similar looks on their faces. “Because first Stiles gets taken, and now you walked into a trap.”

Derek sighed and ran a hand over his face. He’d been thinking about this all night, in between poor attempts at sleeping. He knew he had to tell his Pack, had to tell Cora, what was going on. He just wasn’t planning on doing it today.

“Gerard Argent is back in town,” Derek explained. Cora didn’t recognize the name, but Boyd and Isaac both did. “Chris’ father and Allison’s grandfather. He’s also the chief hunter in this area.”

Cora sat down on the sofa beside Boyd. “Did he kill Laura?”

“We think so,” Derek said. “But we don’t have proof yet.”

“We?” Cora asked. “You and Peter?” Derek nodded. She looked disapproving, but didn’t press it. “These hunters, they’re Gerard Argent’s doing?”

“I’m pretty sure.”

Cora shook her head, her hands wringing in her lap. “This, this can’t be happening,” she said. “We’re a peaceful Pack, we don’t hurt anyone, not even the Omegas. Why would they target us?” Derek glanced at Isaac and Boyd, his eyes bleeding red. They nodded in understanding. Cora was never to know the whole truth. Derek would protect her from this until he couldn’t any longer.

“They’re hunters, Cora. It’s what they do.” Derek stood up and crossed over to her. He crouched in front of her and took her hands. “Look Cora, everything is fine. I’m fine, Stiles is fine, no one will hurt you. You are going to college in a month, and you will forget all about this nonsense and be happy.”

“I will never be happy forgetting about all of this,” she said, cupping his face gently. “You are my family.” He leaned into her touch, basking in the feel of _family_ wafting from her, the feeling of _love_. “So, are you really with Stiles?” she asked, mischievous grin on her face.

Derek also didn’t want to talk about this today, but apparently, things were not exactly going his way. “Yes.”

Cora grinned widely, and he could feel the joy radiating from her. “I’m so happy for you!” She threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. “It’s about time you found someone. You’ve been alone for too long, Derek.” She pulled back and looked at him happily. “I told you that first night that you were his type.”

“You didn’t know,” Derek groused. “Lucky guess, at the most.”

“I know these things,” Cora said. “But don’t mess it up, okay? Stiles is the cat’s meow, and I know you. You get all weird and push people away and don’t talk to them. If you hurt him, I’ll claw your eyes out.” She smiled sweetly. “And if he hurts you, I’ll do worse to him.”

“Did anyone bother to warn Stiles against your crazy sister?” Isaac asked, and Cora punched him. “That’s not very lady like.”

Derek and Isaac left Cora and Boyd to go and attend to some business. They walked to Brownsville, to Ethan and Aiden’s establishment. 

On the way, Derek said, “I want you to start overseeing the rural distilleries. You’ll get a cut of the profit, along with me and Chris, and I’ll trust you to make the arrangements to distribute it throughout the counties.” He eyed Isaac carefully. He’d been wanting to include Isaac into the inner workings of the bootlegging operation for awhile, and lately he’d been showing more interest. Derek wanted to make him a partner one day, because as much as he liked Chris, he trusted Isaac more. “Is that okay?”

“That’s great,” Isaac said, hands stuffed in his pockets. “Want me to carry anyone along?”

“Don’t go alone, ever,” Derek said. “It’s not just hunters you have to worry about.”

“Can I take Scott?” Isaac asked. He watched the ground as he walked, looking young and nervous in a way Derek hadn’t seen him in a long time. 

“Is it serious, then?” 

Isaac glanced at him through his lashes and shrugged. “Maybe. I like him, I like Stiles, and now that you and Stiles – “

“My relationship with Stiles has no bearing on your relationship with Scott, nor your friendship with Stiles. If Stiles and I didn’t see each other ever again, you would still be free to still be friends with him.”

“How magnanimous,” Isaac said sarcastically. “That’s not what I meant. I meant that since we’re both with Stiles and Scott, they’re Pack, right? Does it work that way?”

Derek ran a hand over his face. “I consider Stiles Pack,” Derek said. “I have for awhile now.”

“What about Scott?”

“Do you want him to be Pack?”

Isaac shrugged. “Maybe.”

Derek narrowed his eyes as he studied Isaac closely. “You’re serious about him,” he said in wonder. “You are really serious about him.”

“Who’d have thought that we’d stop fucking prostitutes and get serious with someone, huh?” Isaac snorted. 

“Scott is Pack, too. They both have certainly found places within our group.”

“You scented Stiles,” Isaac said. 

“You scented Scott weeks ago.”

“Guess we’re both pretty serious then, huh?” Isaac kicked an errant stone with his toe. “So, I can take him? He can be part of the operation?” 

Derek nodded. “Just make sure he doesn’t get himself killed.”

As soon as they walked upstairs into the casino, Isaac grabbed Ethan and dragged him into an empty room. Ethan spun on them, his eyes bright gold and fangs out. He scrapped with Isaac for a few moments before Derek advanced on him, claws digging into Ethan’s neck. 

“I’m only going to ask you this once,” Derek growled, his fangs inches from Ethan’s skin. “If you lie to me, I will rip your throat out. Understand?” Ethan growled, but he nodded his head. “Did you know that shipment in Pennsylvania was a trap?” His claws tightened around Ethan’s neck, piercing the skin until small trickles of blood ran down into the collar of his shirt.

Ethan shook his head, and Derek loosened his grip. “No,” Ethan gasped. “I swear, Derek. I didn’t know it was a trap. I heard a few hunters talking about it during a poker game. It must have all been a set up, them using me to get to you.” There were no lies in Ethan’s words, and Derek had suspected that to begin with. He just had to be sure.

Derek let Ethan go and stepped away. Ethan breathed heavily as his hand went to his neck. He rubbed the bruised skin gingerly. “Okay,” Derek said. “Watch yourself, Ethan, you and Aiden both. These hunters are ruthless, and they obviously know we’re connected somehow. “

Ethan nodded and stayed against the wall as Derek and Isaac left, Derek both relieved and frustrated at the same time.

*

Stiles came by his office that afternoon. Derek smiled widely when he entered the office; after his frustrating morning, Stiles was a welcome sight. “Hey,” Derek said as Stiles walked around the desk. His face immediately morphed into worry as he inhaled; Stiles didn’t smell right. Derek tugged him down into his lap and wrapped his arms around him before kissing him. “What’s wrong?” he asked against Stiles’ mouth.

“Nothing,” Stiles said, and Derek could hear the faint uptick of his heart.

“You’re lying,” Derek said as he mouthed along his jaw.

Stiles sighed. “I had a fight with my dad,” he finally said. Derek could tell there was something else, something he wasn’t telling him. 

He pulled away and looked into Stiles’ face, and rubbed his hands up and down Stiles’ arms. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” Stiles snapped. At Derek’s surprised expression, Stiles crumpled against his chest. “I’m sorry, I just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

Derek lifted Stiles’ head and kissed him softly; he wasn’t good with words, but this he was good at. He tried to comfort Stiles with soft kisses and warm, secure hands on his body.

Derek still hadn’t gotten over the fact that Stiles was his, that he could kiss him whenever he wanted. Or, more disturbingly, that Derek _wanted_ to kiss him, and only him. Derek had spent so long not caring for anyone, not letting anyone close, and now here he was, with Stiles wiggling and laughing in his lap as he kissed him.

“I didn’t come in here for this,” Stiles said when he pulled away. “I actually wanted to discuss the distribution of your next shipment.”

“Kissing you is much more interesting,” Derek said as he leaned forward and kissed Stiles again. Stiles sighed into his mouth, and they spent the next ten minutes wrapped around each other in Derek’s leather office chair. Derek’s hands ran up and down Stiles’ back and shoulders, over the rough material of his vest and dress shirt, getting more and more wrinkled as Derek touched it. Stiles’ hands were in Derek’s hair, his nails scratching through his stubble as his tongue explored Derek’s mouth.

When they pulled apart, Stiles kind of gaped at him as he breathed, his mouth hanging open and revealing the delicious swell of his lower lip from where Derek had been nibbling on it. Derek leaned forward, flicked his tongue against Stiles’ mouth, and trailed it along the curve of Stiles’ lips. Stiles moaned against his tongue. 

“You’re the boss; you’re supposed to make sure I do my job,” Stiles whispered with a coy smile, his fingers playing with the hairs at the nape of Derek’s neck.

“I’m a terrible boss,” Derek said, leaning forward and brushing his lips against Stiles’ lightly. “Just ask the others.”

“I really hope you don’t treat the others the same way,” Stiles said.

After kissing for a few more minutes, Derek reluctantly pulled away again, and said, “We have to go see my uncle this afternoon.”

“What?” Stiles said, all light-hearted joy lost from the moment before. “What do you mean _we_?”

“He requested both our presences,” Derek explained, his face a scowl. “I don’t like it, not at all, but we can’t exactly refuse.”

“You might not can, but I can refuse,” Stiles said, pushing himself away. Derek tightened his arms to keep him from getting up. “I don’t owe him anything; he doesn’t tell me what to do.”

“You were at the scene of the hunters’ trap, and you’ve been taken twice,” Derek said. “Just, don’t say much when you’re there. Let me do the talking.”

“This is bullshit,” Stiles exclaimed. 

“Hey,” Derek said, cupping Stiles’ face when he felt the anxiety and fear start to rise. “Nothing will happen to you. You’re protected. I protect you. Nothing will happen to you as long as I live, I promise you.”

Stiles dropped his forehead against Derek’s. “I guess it was only inevitable that I meet the family.” They both laughed, and Derek slapped Stiles’ ass playfully before kissing him again.

*

The scent of Stiles’ apprehension was cloying inside the close confines of the elevator. Derek reached out and took Stiles’ hand to give it an encouraging squeeze. Inside the office, Peter was sitting behind his desk with a wide smile on his face, his eyes never leaving Stiles. It made Derek’s skin crawl. 

“So, this is Stiles Stilinski,” Peter said when they were seated across from him. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” Stiles watched him with a level gaze, never wavering. It made Derek feel proud. “You seem to have a propensity to find trouble.”

“I believe the trouble finds me,” Stiles replied sarcastically.

“Touché,” Peter grinned. “Tell me about Pennsylvania,” he directed towards Derek, but his eyes kept drifting back to Stiles. Derek could feel Stiles’ growing discomfort, and he knew Peter could, too. While Derek explained about the trap, Stiles unconsciously moved closer and closer to him, until his foot and leg were touching Derek’s. “Sounds rather eventful,” Peter said, turning his gaze back to Stiles. “You seemed to perform very well for a human.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment, because if so, it’s a really bad one,” Stiles said. Derek tensed, and Peter noticed it. Dammit.

But Peter just tilted his head and scrutinized Stiles further, like he was the most fascinating thing on the planet. “It was intended as a compliment, yes,” Peter said. “Most humans would not survive two encounters with hunters. Tell me, Stiles, how was it that you managed to disarm and take down _four_ experienced hunters while my nephew was incapacitated?”

Derek felt the shock radiate through Stiles, and he balled his hands into fists as Stiles looked at Derek in surprise before turning back to Peter. “Just what are you implying?” Stiles asked. “Because it sounds a whole hell of a lot like you’re trying to say you don’t believe I took them down.”

“I’m just pointing out the, ah, incredible nature of your rescue of my nephew.”

“Look,” Stiles started, rising from his chair. Derek reached out and grabbed his arm, giving Stiles a small shake of his head when he looked over at him. Derek noticed that Peter watched the exchange with interest. “I’m not working with the hunters or whatever it is you think I’ve done this week,” Stiles said. “I don’t know what it’s going to take for you people to get that I’m on your side. I don’t know how Derek and I didn’t die. I stabbed one guy in the eye, mainly because he was a dumbass, I shot another guy, then Derek took out a guy, and when there were two left, some guy with a sword kept rambling about skinning us alive and so I stabbed the guy guarding me and Derek clawed sword guy in the stomach.” Stiles was furious, and he glared at Peter angrily. “I’ve almost died at the hands of these hunters twice; I don’t know what else you want from me.”

Peter narrowed his eyes and stared at Stiles for a long time, but Stiles’ gaze never wavered. Finally, Peter laughed. “Oh, I like him, Derek. He’s got spirit, which is something I think the rest of that lackluster Pack of yours is missing.”

Derek growled low in his throat. Peter sighed and spoke to Stiles. “Derek has very few manners. Please forgive him. He tends to believe displays of the wolf are appropriate in civilized company.” Peter took a sip of the tea at his elbow before saying, “I can see why you chose him, Derek. In addition to his obvious good looks, there’s something about him. I see you’ve marked him,” Peter said.

Stiles touched his chest and looked down. “How do you…how can you see under clothes?” He glanced at Derek accusingly. “You didn’t tell me you can see through clothes.”

“I’m not talking about _that_ kind of mark,” Peter said with a leer, “though, that is something I do wish I could see. No, Derek has scented you, marked you as his, but not claimed you. You haven’t even had sex with him, Derek. I’d have thought you would have taken that by now.”

“You can smell virginity?” Stiles exclaimed. “This is just getting weird. Are you uncomfortable? I’m a little uncomfortable.”

“I’ll only claim him if he wants it,” Derek said, ignoring Stiles’ rambling. “I’m not forcing that on him.”

“You know not all werewolves respect marking,” Peter said.

“I’m aware of that,” Derek said through gritted teeth. “But this is none of your concern, and the discussion is over.”

Peter put his hands up in supplication. “Fine, as you wish. Hunters don’t abide by those ancient rituals anyway.” Peter turned his attention fully on Derek. “We need to find Gerard. This trap, although weak, almost worked. I’d like not to lose another family member to Gerard Argent.”

“I’ll see what I can find,” Derek said, “though I’ve been trying for weeks and have come up empty.”

“Try harder,” Peter said. “He’s starting to piss me off.”

*

Stiles was unnaturally silent on the drive back to the theater. Derek didn’t know what to say, so he remained silent. He could feel Stiles’ whirring emotions, the scramble inside his head, the buzz of energy just beneath the surface of his skin. It kept Derek on edge the entire drive from Manhattan.

When they were upstairs, Derek followed Stiles into his office and dropped onto the worn leather sofa as Stiles paced in front of his desk. “He’s not going to kill me, is he?” Stiles asked, glancing over at Derek. “I mean, I’m pretty sure you’d kill him if he killed me, I mean, at least I _hope_ you’d kill him, but – “

“Stiles,” Derek cut in gently. “He’s not going to kill you.”

“What did he mean by you marked me?” Stiles stopped and stared at Derek. “What did you do to me?”

Derek ran a hand through his hair. “I put my scent on you, marked you as mine. Pack members have a scent of the Pack, the combined smell of all of us. Since we’re together,” Derek said awkwardly, because in fact, he wasn’t exactly sure what they were, but Stiles didn’t correct him, “I made it known to any werewolf who approaches you that you are involved with me, the Alpha.”

“I’m not sure I like the sound of that,” Stiles said, leaning back against the desk and crossing his feet at the ankles and his arms over his chest. 

Derek tried to hide his disappointment at hearing that Stiles didn’t want to be marked by him. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I should have known you wouldn’t want to carry my mark. I shouldn’t assume.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Is that what you think I’m saying?” Stiles crossed the room and crawled into Derek’s lap. He straddled Derek’s body, his knees on either side of Derek’s hips. He looped his arms around Derek’s shoulders. “For someone so wonderful, you can sometimes be a big pill, do you know that?” Stiles said, shaking his head with a smile playing on his lips. “I don’t mind carrying your mark. What I mind is not being told. If I’m advertising that I’m an Alpha werewolf’s main squeeze, I probably should know it.”

“I didn’t even think about it,” Derek said. “It’s instinct.”

“Where’s the mark?” Derek reached his fingers out and trailed them against Stiles’ neck, behind his ear. “Oh. That explains why you spent so much time kissing there,” Stiles said with a slight blush to his cheeks.

Derek chuckled softly. “No,” he said as he leaned forward and dragged his nose against Stiles’ neck. “It’s because your scent drives me crazy.” He kissed the spot just behind Stiles’ ear. “You drive me crazy,” he whispered. Derek felt Stiles shudder in his arms.

“Next time you are going to mark me or claim me or whatever, just let me know, okay?” Stiles said, pulling back. “I don’t want to be left in the dark with these things.” Derek nodded, and then leaned forward and kissed him again.

*

Stiles was on the dance floor with Lydia, head thrown back and laughing at something she had whispered in his ear. Derek watched him from behind the bar as he served drinks, his eyes grazing along the pale, exposed flesh. He wanted to sink his teeth into it, lick and kiss it until it bruised under his tongue.

Stiles turned his head and caught Derek’s eye, and he smiled, wide and happy, as he waved, and when Derek returned the smile, he realized something. He was happy. Stiles made him happy.

Derek watched Stiles as he danced with a stranger, then glared as Stiles talked to a man who was obviously hitting on him. Stiles was being nice, but Derek could tell he wasn’t completely aware of the man’s intentions.

“Afraid someone is going to steal him?” Erica said as she sidled up beside him. “You reek of jealousy.” He glowered down at her. She grinned, her red lips curling as she pushed up the sleeves of her white button up. “You’re really disgusting, do you know that?” She bumped his hip. “You’ve just been oozing happiness and joy all night. It’s kind of disturbing me.”

“At least I’m not oozing sex like you usually do,” Derek retorted. She pretended to be offended for all of five seconds.

“You need to ooze sex,” she said. “But I think Stiles needs to ooze sex a bit more.”

Derek sighed. “Must you cheapen this?”

“Yes.”

“Just because you don’t believe in true love…” Derek said, quirking an eyebrow with a smirk.

“True love, is it? Is that what Stiles is now?” Derek opened his mouth to protest, feeling flustered because that wasn’t what he meant, not really, and he just wanted Erica to stop smirking at him. “I do not believe in true love. I believe in sex and money, both things that Chris gives me in spades.” At that moment, Allison stormed by behind them, purposefully elbowing Erica before bending down to pull a bottle from the cabinet below. “Allison, would you mind _not_ taking your own sexual frustrations out on me? Maybe if you got some dick once in awhile…”

Allison straightened and gave Erica a saccharine smile. “Would you mind not talking about my father like he’s just a fuck?”

“Oh, but he is, doll,” Erica purred, stepping closer to Allison. “And a good fuck at that.”

“How’d you like me to carve that smirk off your face?”

“How’d you like me to claw your pretty little eyes out of your head?” Erica snarled.

“Enough!” Derek growled, grabbing them both by the shoulders and pulling them apart. “You two really need to resolve your fucking differences.”

Allison stormed back to her end of the bar, where a line of customers waited. Erica laughed, and Derek spun around, pinning her against the back counter, eyes flashing red. “Stop being a bitch to her,” Derek said. “It’s bad enough you’re her age and fucking her father. You don’t have to rub it in her face every day.”

“Why do you always take her side?” Erica pouted.

“I don’t take her side, but you’re the one usually acting like a bitch.” Derek raised his eyebrows and gave her a pointed look. 

“I thought you liked it when I was a bitch,” she said, eyes round and falsely innocent. Derek rolled his eyes.

“You’re annoying.”

“You love me,” she said, patting his cheek hard enough to sting. “Don’t deny it.” He sighed as she gloated. Sometimes, Derek really wished he was an Omega.

*

Stiles dropped onto the bar stool around ten p.m. His cheeks were pink and flushed, his eyes bright. He looked so kissable that it took everything Derek had not to lean across the counter and kiss him.

“Can I have one of my special drinks?” Stiles asked when Derek leaned his elbows on the counter.

“No.”

“No?” Stiles’ lip jutted just a bit in a pout.

“I have a counter offer,” Derek said, dropping his voice low. “How about we get out of here?”

Stiles’ eyes widened slightly, and then his face relaxed into an amused smirk. “Are you propositioning me, Derek Hale?”

“Possibly.”

Stiles stood up. “Then what are we waiting for?”

*  
Derek came up behind where Stiles was resting his elbows on the balcony railing as he looked out over the East River. Derek slid his arms around Stiles’ waist and pressed a kiss to the back of his neck. 

“This view is incredible,” Stiles said as he covered Derek’s hand with his own. “I didn’t get to really enjoy it the last time I was here.” Derek growled quietly against his shoulder. “Are you going to do that every time I mention that?”

“I don’t like thinking about you hurt,” Derek said, his cheek pressed against Stiles’ neck. Stiles scratched his nails along Derek’s arm as they stood together quietly. 

Derek felt completely at ease. Stiles was warm and solid in his arms, the soft sound of his breathing calming in the quiet night. Derek couldn’t remember the last time he felt this relaxed, this content. He was always running from something, pushing away thoughts of the men he’d killed, of Kate, of Laura and his parents. But Stiles was different; Stiles changed all that. When he was around Stiles, there was a peace in him he hadn’t felt since before his dad went off to war.

He tried to live in the moment and stamp down the voices telling him that this would be taken away from him, too, just like every other good thing in his life. 

“Penny for your thoughts,” Stiles said after awhile. Derek blinked as he woke from his light doze. “You’re so quiet back there.”

“That’s not odd for me,” Derek said. “You’re the one who can’t stop talking.”

“I like to talk,” Stiles replied honestly, and Derek smiled. “What do you want to do?” he asked. “Because I’m sure standing here on your balcony isn’t what you had in mind.”

“What do you want to do?” Derek asked. “I’m perfectly content to stand here with you in my arms.” Derek reveled in the feeling of Stiles’ obvious pleasure in Derek’s words. Stiles scratched his nails along his arms again, and it made Derek’s skin tingle.

“Are we going to have sex?” Stiles asked. Derek tensed and straightened, and Stiles twisted in his arms until he was leaning back against the balcony. “Isn’t that why you brought me up here? To have sex with me? Peter said – “

“Stop right there,” Derek said. “First, don’t listen to anything Peter says. Ever. Second, I didn’t bring you up here to have sex. Yes, we can have sex, but it’s not mandatory.” He reached out and ran his fingers through Stiles’ hair. “I just want to be with you.”

Stiles smiled. “Do you mind if we just dance?” Derek smiled, grabbed Stiles’ hand, and led him into the living room. He walked over to the victrola and put on one of Cora’s slow jazz records. “I thought you didn’t like jazz,” Stiles said as he wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck. 

“You do,” Derek said, “and this isn’t so bad.” Derek pulled Stiles close, wrapping one arm low on his waist, his other holding their hands by their shoulders. They swayed to the soft horns, the rhythm slow and sensual.

Derek stepped back with his arm extended. Stiles twirled underneath his raised arm, then easily spun until his back was flush against Derek’s chest. Stiles was solid against him, the sweet smell of happiness and the slightly tangy scent of arousal surrounding him. Derek’s arm wrapped around Stiles’ belly held him close, and he could feel Stiles’ warmth all around him. Derek dropped kisses along the side of Stiles’ face. 

Derek released his arms and Stiles spun out, then stepped close as Derek twined their fingers. Derek dragged his nose across Stiles’ cheek, his lips pressing light kisses against his skin. Derek sighed.

“Why are you sighing?” Stiles whispered against his ear, then kissed it. Derek remained quiet, unwilling to answer. “Go on, tell me. I don’t care.” Stiles held Derek tighter, and they were pressed so close Derek wasn’t sure where one ended and the other began.

“This just seems too good to be true.”

Stiles looked at Derek, his face so close his nose bumped his own. Stiles’ eyes were bright, his pupils large, his dark eyelashes sweeping across the delicate skin when he blinked. “Derek, you deserve good things, too,” Stiles whispered. “And I’ve made it my mission to make you see that.” Stiles slid his arms around Derek’s neck and kissed him, slowly, their lips unhurried, their bodies swaying as their tongues danced together, warm and soft and wet. 

Derek wasn’t aware of when the record ended, just heard the silence in the house as they held each other and kissed slowly. When he nipped gently at Stiles’ bottom lip, Stiles moaned softly into his mouth, and Derek bent down and lifted Stiles easily, Stiles’ legs wrapping around his waist. Derek carried Stiles through the apartment, into his bedroom, and laid him onto the bed. He placed one knee on the bed, hovering on the edge as he looked down at Stiles.

“Is this okay?” 

Stiles smiled as he reached out and grabbed Derek’s head to pull him down. “I didn’t say I didn’t want to have sex,” Stiles said, shy and unsure. “I’m just a bit nervous.” Stiles bit his lip and glanced down at the bedspread. “I’ve never…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Derek said, settling himself on top of Stiles. “Are you sure about this? We can just lay here, or dance more.”

Stiles rolled his hips against Derek’s, and Derek moaned when he felt Stiles’ erection brushing against his hips. “I’ve wanted you to touch me for a long time.” Derek dragged his fingers across the faint blush on Stiles’ cheeks, the heat nearly searing his fingers. He covered Stiles’ mouth with his own and kissed him, slowly exploring his mouth as his hands roamed over Stiles’ body with more freedom. Before, they had only tentatively touched each other, little presses as they kissed, but now Derek touched with more purpose. 

Derek took his time undressing Stiles. He kissed every bare inch of skin he could as he peeled off layer after layer, but Stiles wasn’t to be denied his chance to touch and kiss Derek’s body. Stiles rolled Derek onto his back after stripping him down into nothing but his underwear. Before Stiles even touched him, his eyes traveled all over Derek’s body, but not in the purely sexual way that others usually looked at him. Stiles was obviously attracted to and aroused by Derek, but there was something else there, something in his eyes as he lightly trailed his fingers over Derek’s shoulders, down Derek’s chest. He treated Derek like he was something to be treasured, something delicate and to be handled with care. Usually, that would annoy Derek, cause him to bristle, but he felt himself melting underneath Stiles’ touch. Stiles didn’t find him weak; he touched him like he was worth something, like he _mattered_.

Derek couldn’t remember the last time he felt like he mattered.

Stiles ran his palms up Derek’s chest, then dragged his fingers over the side of Derek’s neck. Derek’s eyes flashed red at the bold display against his neck, and Stiles tilted his head and looked at him curiously. “Does it work the same for you?” he asked as he bent down and nuzzled against Derek’s neck. 

Derek moaned. No one had ever touched him there, touched him so intimately. He expected to feel threatened, to want to growl, but his wolf hummed contently, pleased with the feeling of Stiles’ face pressed against his skin, with Stiles’ scent so strong and heady in his nostrils.

“Are you marked now?” Stiles asked as he pressed open-mouthed kisses against Derek’s neck. Derek writhed on the bed, his cock throbbing without even one touch to it. “Will the werewolves know you’re mine?”

“You have no clue what you’re doing to me,” Derek said, his voice wrecked and thin. He felt like he was being unraveled slowly, and it felt both tortuous and wonderful. Stiles licked a long stripe up the side of Derek’s neck, and he reacted on instinct: he grabbed Stiles around the waist and flipped them over so Stiles was on his back. He pressed a bruising kiss to Stiles’ mouth, more teeth than tongue. Stiles’ fingers scratched down his back, blunt nails digging into his flesh, as his hips canted against Derek’s.

When Derek pulled away, Stiles looked absolutely gorgeous beneath him with bright eyes and pupils blown, lips deep red and swollen, and stubble burn around his mouth. “Turn over,” Derek managed, and Stiles leaned up to kiss him softly before rolling onto his stomach. 

Derek sat back on his haunches, staring down at the pale expanse of Stiles’ back, the spread of moles on his skin. He leaned down and connected them with his tongue, drawing an abstract pattern across Stiles’ back. Stiles hummed contently under him, his head cradled on his arms and eyes closed.

When Derek hooked his thumbs under Stiles’ underwear, he felt the rise of Stiles’ anxiety, and he ran a comforting hand down his spine as he pulled them off. Derek stared at the smooth swell of his ass as he kicked his own underwear off. Stiles craned his head over his shoulder and watched.

“Still doing okay?” Derek asked. 

“Yep,” Stiles replied, eyes glued to Derek’s crotch. “Can I touch it?” 

Derek chuckled and nodded. “Please.” Stiles reached out and dragged his fingertips along his shaft, and Derek moaned at the feather light touches. 

“It feels different than mine,” Stiles said. Derek covered Stiles’ hand with his own and circled their fingers around his cock, and guided Stiles along it loosely. Derek realized this may have been the most erotic thing he’d ever done.

Derek rocked into their fists, his eyes closed as he thrust his hips shallowly. When he opened his eyes again, he found Stiles looking at him with a look that was both soft and hungry at the same time. Derek draped his body over Stiles’, moaning at the feeling of his cock nestled in the small of his back, and kissed him deeply.

Stiles’ body was hot and tight when he slid slick fingers into him, one then two as Stiles got used to the sensation. “Relax,” Derek whispered against his shoulder as he rubbed soothing circles against Stiles’ hips. “Breathe, I won’t hurt you.”

“I know,” Stiles said. “It just feels uncomfortable and kinda hurts.” Derek removed his fingers and ran his hands down the length of Stiles’ back, pressing into the flesh to knead out some of the tension. “I’m sorry,” Stiles muffled into his arms.

Derek stretched out on top of him and wiggled his arms under Stiles’ body so he could embrace him. He pressed gentle kisses against his neck, trying to surround Stiles in affection. “Don’t you ever apologize,” Derek said. “We’ll take it slow. I don’t mind.”

“You don’t?” Stiles asked, unburying his head from where he’d hidden it in his arms. He chanced a look over his shoulder, and Derek dropped a kiss to his lips. “But you usually fuck prostitutes who obviously have no problems, and you told me once you don’t like this part, the talking and touching stuff.”

Derek propped his chin on Stiles’ shoulder, their cheeks pressed together. “I have no desire to talk to prostitutes,” Derek said, angling his face so he could look at Stiles. “I would do anything with you.”

“Can we try again?” Stiles asked. “Maybe I need to – “

Derek cut him off with a kiss. “I have a better idea.” He held onto Stiles’ waist and rolled them onto their sides. Derek ran a hand down Stiles’ chest and belly before he grabbed the jar of lubricant from the bedside table behind them and slicked his cock. He nudged it right under Stiles’ ass and held onto the outside of Stiles’ thigh as he pushed between the crease of his legs. 

“Oh!” Stiles exclaimed when Derek’s cock slid into the close heat. Derek shuddered at the friction of Stiles’ thighs on his shaft, at the feeling of his cock pressing against the soft skin behind Stiles’ balls. “Derek,” Stiles whispered, his hand coming up behind him. He threaded his fingers in Derek’s hair and scratched his nail along Derek’s scalp.

Derek adopted a slow rhythm, a languid thrust of his hips as he slid between Stiles’ thighs. He leaned forward and kissed and bit at the pale skin on Stiles’ shoulders, desire pooling low in his belly with the continuous friction. Each time the head of his cock pushed free of Stiles’ thighs and then moved back in, Derek made a low, grumbling sound on the back of his throat.

Stiles turned his face, and Derek kissed him as he wrapped his fingers around Stiles’ length. Stiles moaned into Derek’s mouth as he loosely jerked his cock, unhurried flicks of his wrist out of tempo with the thrust of his hips. Stiles’ tongue was soft against his own, his mouth sloppy and uncoordinated as they moved closer and closer to release.

They stayed like that for a long time, Derek pressed along Stiles’ back, fucking between his thighs leisurely as their tongues slid against one another. With each thrust, Derek could feel Stiles’ plump, heavy balls against the top of his shaft, and he reached further down to roll them around in his hand before circling his fist around Stiles’ cock again.

Stiles’ draped his arm back over Derek’s hip, his fingers digging into the flesh of Derek’s ass. Derek could tell when he hit a sensitive spot along Stiles’ perineum or twisted his wrist a way Stiles liked because Stiles would grip his ass hard. Derek sped up his thrusts, just to feel the pressure of Stiles’ fingers on his skin.

While Derek thrust, his fist sliding quickly along Stiles’ cock, Derek realized this is the longest he’d ever spent in bed with someone. He’d lost track of how long they’d been touching each other, how long he’d been fucking the tight squeeze of Stiles’ thighs. Usually Derek tried to get it over with and get off as quickly as he could, but tonight was different. Tonight he wanted to listen to every soft sound Stiles made when he touched him, listen to every hitch in his breath and feel every shudder beneath his fingertips. He wanted to see how long it took until Stiles completely fell apart, how long it took until he fell apart, too.

Derek came first, his teeth sinking into the flesh just above Stiles’ shoulder blade. His hips snapped quickly, gliding slick between Stiles’ thighs with his come, the sound of their bodies slapping together loud in the silent bedroom. Derek felt himself completely dissolving in the moment, losing himself to the soft caresses of Stiles’ hands and the words he whispered against Derek’s forehead where he’d buried it in the crook of Stiles’ neck. Stiles’ hand never left Derek’s hair, and Derek could feel it all the way to the tips of his toes.

Derek continued stroking Stiles as he came down from his orgasm, his hand moving of its own accord. He could tell Stiles was close, his hips jerking slightly with every twist of Derek’s hand around the crown of his cock, every squeeze to the base. 

Stiles was the most beautiful thing Derek had ever seen when he came. He arched his back, body pressing into Derek’s fist and dragging delicious friction against his already sensitive, softening cock. He cried out quietly, subtle and the opposite of how Stiles usually was with his loud, incessant rambles. He bucked into Derek’s hand, riding out his orgasm as come spilled over Derek’s fist and slid down his wrist.

When Stiles dropped back onto the bed, he immediately snuggled into Derek’s embrace, searching for any bit of contact he could find. Derek was still stroking him gently, Stiles’ cock spasming slightly in his hand. Derek let Stiles’ cock fall from his fingertips and lifted his wrist to his mouth to lick the come away. He moaned when the taste of Stiles’ come touched his tongue.

“Do you like that?” Stiles asked over his shoulder. Derek rolled Stiles over onto his back and spread his thighs. Come was starting to dry where it had spread between his legs, on this balls, and behind them. Derek leaned forward and spread the come around Stiles’ skin, mixing their scents together. He licked the sticky mess from Stiles’ balls, almost coming when he tasted their combined flavors. “You okay?” Stiles asked, his fingers brushing lightly through Derek’s hair. 

Derek hummed in response as he tugged Stiles’ balls into his mouth, Stiles moaning quietly above him, his limp cock twitching slightly. He licked behind Stiles’ balls, the smell of arousal and sex so thick around him. Stiles smelled like _them_ , he smelled _right_. 

After Derek licked him cleaned, he nosed around Stiles’ groin, his balls, the crease of his thighs, his soft cock, the dark curls. He dropped kisses around all of Stiles’ sensitive areas before he crawled up Stiles’ body and kissed him deeply, intoxicated by the tastes on his tongue mixing in Stiles’ mouth. “Is this a marking thing?” Stiles asked when Derek pulled away, breathless. Derek nodded. “Do I smell like you?”

“You smell like _us_ ,” Derek said, and when Stiles smiled, Derek knew he was too far gone to care anymore. He was falling in love with Stiles.


	7. Chapter 7

“You had sex,” Scott said as soon as he saw Stiles the next night. They were sitting in a booth in the Sour Wolf, waiting for the others to join them. “There’s something slightly different about you. You’re basically _glowing_.”

Stiles grinned widely. “Damn straight I had sex, and it was the _bee’s knees_.” His mind floated to the feeling of Derek’s plump cock between his thighs, the feeling of Derek’s thick fingers around him. 

“Ew, you’re thinking about it right now aren’t you? Gross.”

“Payback for all the times you’ve told me about you and Isaac,” Stiles said, punching Scott in the shoulder. 

“I haven’t told you that much,” Scott sulked, and Stiles laughed. 

“Oh, buddy, I could draw you diagrams at this point.”

“Draw diagrams of what?” Lydia asked as she slid into the booth. “Are you two talking about sex?” Scott and Stiles stared at each other helplessly, and Lydia rolled her eyes. “Oh please, just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I don’t have sex, or get all flustered and upset when someone talks about it.” She pressed the back of her hand against her forehead in a mock swoon before huffing and turning to Stiles. “So you had sex with Derek, then?”

“How does everyone know?” Stiles exclaimed. “It’s like I’m wearing a huge sign that says, ‘Stiles had sex.’” Stiles glanced at the front of his suit and then the back. “I’m not, am I? Derek said there was this marking thing, and like maybe I’m wearing a huge – “

“You’re not wearing a sign,” Lydia sighed. “The wolves knew it happened as soon as Derek walked into work today, and then Allison overheard, and she told me.” She gave him a smug smile.

“I’m so glad my sex life is so interesting,” Stiles groaned, dropping his head down to his arms.

“It’s not,” Lydia said. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself and dance with me.”

“Can’t you find someone else?” Stiles asked miserably.

Lydia scoffed. “Of course I can. But the last guy I danced with wouldn’t stop grabbing my bottom, so I decided to pick a partner who respects women. Come on, Stilinski.” Lydia headed towards the dance floor, leaving no room for argument. Stiles dragged himself from the booth, trying to tamp down his embarrassment.

Stiles danced with Lydia to a few fast songs the band played as Cora’s voice rang out through the crowd. After Lydia left him for a new partner, Stiles ended up dancing with a dark-haired man not much older than himself. The man’s hands drifted down to Stiles’ hips, then lower to his ass. Stiles pulled his hands up back to his waist. “Not so fast, Mister.” Stiles smiled good naturedly as he continued dancing. 

“Why not?” the man whispered against Stiles’ ear, his hands slipping lower again. “You’re quite handsome; we could have a lot of fun.” The man reached around and cupped Stiles through the front of his trousers.

“Oh my, yeah, not okay,” Stiles said, chuckling awkwardly as he turned to walk away. 

“Wait,” the man started, but didn’t say anything else. Stiles glanced over his shoulder and gaped. Derek was dragging the man to the door by the collar of his shirt. Part of the crowd had stopped what they were doing to stare as Derek made his way through the speakeasy. Stiles ran after them. 

“Derek!” Stiles yelled as Derek handed the man off to Boyd, who tossed him out of the door. “What in the hell are you doing?”

“Getting rid of that fucking piker,” Derek growled. He grabbed Stiles’ hand and pulled him into a small unused office in the back corner of the bar that was mostly full of junk. When they were alone, he ran his hands over Stiles’ neck, arms, and back. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Stiles said irritably, shaking off Derek’s hands. “I don’t know why you did that.”

“You told him no,” Derek said, face angry. “And he propositioned you for sex. He touched you.” For the briefest of moments, Derek’s eyes flashed red.

“First off, I can take care of myself. Second, yes, he touched me, but did you miss the part where I was walking away from Mister Grabby Hands? Because that was definitely me walking away before you went all Alpha on his ass.” Stiles folded his arms across his chest. 

“He touched you,” Derek repeated, his eyes bleeding red again. “I don’t like people touching what’s mine.”

Stiles bristled. “I’m not your _property_ , Derek. You don’t get to tell me who I can and can’t touch or talk to. We discussed me dancing with other people; you said it was _fine_.”

“That was before some fucking asshole had his hands all over my lover,” Derek said. Stiles rolled his eyes. 

“He was harmless, he didn’t even know that I was taken. We never got that far, because as I was about to _tell him I wasn’t available_ , you dragged him away. I’m not some broad you need to protect, Derek. I can take care of myself.”

Derek exhaled heavily through his nose. “I have to protect you.”

“Not from handsy men on the dance floor.” Stiles grabbed Derek and tugged him close. “You’ve got relax, Derek. Nothing is going to happen to me. And more than that, you’ve got to trust me.” He ran a hand down Derek’s stubbled cheek and shook his head. Derek was looking at him with an almost pained expression, caught somewhere between embarrassment, remorse, and fury. “You can’t just run around beating on every man that talks to me.” 

Derek growled. “You don’t know the kinds of guys who come here. You can’t just – “

“You’re an asshole,” Stiles said as he pushed Derek away. “I can do what I want. I’m not one of your wolves.” Stiles shouldered past Derek and out of the office. Boyd watched him closely as he walked by him and into the secret passage.

He was just done with all of them for the day.

*

Stiles spent most nights up on the roof of the theater since he started living there. He found the stairs leading to the roof the first week while exploring after hours, and if he perched on the edge of the theater, he could see the tall buildings for miles around. It made him feel part of something larger, something incredible.

Sometimes when he was with Cora, Allison, Lydia, Scott, and Isaac, he felt like life held opportunity, that they were living on the brink of greatness. That if he just kept going a little longer, he’d have anything in the world that he wanted, that life would open up and everything would be his. 

Sometimes when he looked in the mirror at his reflection, he didn’t recognize the man staring back. He wasn’t the same reedy kid who got beat up every other week; he was a man in a tailored suit who had friends, a lover. He danced at speakeasies until all hours of the night, rubbed elbows with New York’s elite, was surrounded by glamour and excitement all the time. 

But then there was Derek, who always knew how to ruin everything. He could never enjoy the moment, never enjoy that he was living a life others would love to have, a life Stiles only dreamed about a few months ago. Stiles wanted to make him see how amazing life was, but Derek only saw darkness.

Stiles sat on the edge of the roof, arms hugging his legs and his chin resting on his knees. Voices from the crowd drifted up from below as people milled about on their way home. Laughter rang through the air, car horns blared as engines purred quietly in the background. The lights from the marquees illuminated the surroundings, and Stiles absently watched the people along the street.

When he heard the door open, he wasn’t surprised. He didn’t move as he heard soft footsteps falling behind him, didn’t turn when Derek sat beside him.

“It’s a nice view,” Derek said. 

“I like it.”

Derek glanced around the roof with interest. “I’ve never been up here. I didn’t even know there were stairs leading up here.” He paused and turned towards Stiles. “Do you come up here a lot?”

“Yep.”

“Are you going to talk to me?”

“I’m talking,” Stiles said. “But you’re the one who came and found me. I was having a fine time up here alone; you’re the one who wants to talk.”

Derek sighed. “Are you really that mad?”

“Not really,” Stiles replied after a few moments. “I just…I get that you worry about me, especially with what happened to both of us.” He turned his head to peer at Derek. His face was deep in shadow from the marquee lights, and Stiles couldn’t see his expression. “You can’t get upset about silly little things, like men hitting on me. Not like it happens that often…”

“You don’t realize how many men and women want you,” Derek said. “I can sense their arousal when they talk to you, when they look at you, while they dance with you. It’s maddening.”

“Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Stiles just stared at him, because nothing was obvious with Derek. “Because you’d be so much better off with one of those other people. Someone who won’t almost get you killed just by being near you.”

Stiles reached out to grab Derek’s hand and laid his head on his shoulder. “I wouldn’t be better off with those other people,” he said quietly. “Because they’re not you.”

Derek huffed quietly, and Stiles knew he didn’t believe him, but for now, he wasn’t arguing. Stiles tilted his head and kissed the underside of Derek’s chin, then kissed his strong jaw line. Derek turned his face down and met Stiles’ lips with his own. Stiles still wasn’t over the novelty of kissing Derek, even after having done much more than just kissing. He liked the feel of Derek’s lips under his, liked the press of soft flesh and the scrape of rough stubble. He liked to listen to the quiet noises Derek made, little moans and soft grunts and small growls and even low whines in the back of his throat. Most of all, Stiles liked feeling connected, liked the warmth of Derek’s body against his own.

Derek pushed him gently back against the roof as he stretched alongside him. Stiles slid his hands down the front of Derek’s suit, trying to feel the hard contours of his body beneath his clothing. When he reached the waist of Derek’s trousers, he tentatively cupped his crotch. Derek moaned into his mouth as Stiles shyly palmed him through his pants.

“Stiles,” Derek said quietly as he slung his leg across Stiles’ body and moved on top of him. Stiles reveled in the feeling of Derek’s cock hardening beneath his touch, at the rush at being the one to make Derek respond in that way. Derek thumbed open the fly on Stiles’ pants and opened them enough to pull his cock out. Stiles moaned into Derek’s mouth as Derek slid his fist lazily along the length.

“There are people down there,” Stiles mumbled against Derek’s mouth, Derek’s tongue tangled against his own. He turned his face just enough to look to the side without breaking contact with Derek’s mouth, and saw that they were lying rather close to the edge of the roof.

“They can’t see,” Derek said as he nipped at Stiles’ bottom lip. “Don’t you find it exciting? Knowing that there are people going about their nightly business while we’re up here, having sex?” He brushed his thumb across the head of Stiles’ cock, and Stiles bucked into his hand.

Stiles made quick work of getting Derek’s fly open and pulling his cock out, and Derek wrapped his fingers around both their lengths. “Fuck,” Stiles breathed, looking up at the night sky as Derek worked his fist over them. Derek’s cock was hot and the flesh velvety soft against his own, and Derek’s fingers were strong as they squeezed the two of them together. Stiles lifted his head and looked between them. 

Derek had himself lifted on his knees, his arm braced by Stiles’ head, as he slid his fist along their shafts. But Derek was also thrusting into his hand, which Stiles thought was unbelievably sexy. He reached up and grabbed the back of Derek’s head and pulled him down into a kiss.

Stiles kissed Derek hard as Derek’s hand brought them closer and closer to release. Derek’s thumb spread precome around the heads of their cocks, and Stiles felt his balls tightening in response. His hips made small movements into Derek’s fist as his hands disappeared into Derek’s hair. He tugged on the soft strands, and Derek moaned into his mouth.

When Derek’s fist twisted a bit on the upstroke, his thumb catching just right on a sensitive spot beneath the head of Stiles’ cock, Stiles held onto Derek tightly as he came over his fist. Derek used the added slickness to speed up his thrust, milking Stiles through his orgasm and driving him towards his own. Stiles’ cock was twitching and approaching too sensitive when Derek’s hips bucked erratically and he came between them.

Derek rolled onto his side and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to clean the mess from them, though their clothes were soiled. He dropped another kiss to Stiles’ lips before slipping the damp handkerchief back into his pocket.

“Are we good?” Derek asked, his fingers brushing idly though Stiles’ hair.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Just because we had an argument doesn’t mean anything is wrong between us. We’re going to fight, you know.”

Derek leaned down and nuzzled his face into Stiles’ neck. “I feel like I fight with everyone,” he said, “I don’t want to fight with you, too.”

“We’re okay,” Stiles said quietly. 

“I should drive you home,” Derek said after a few minutes. “It’s getting late.” Stiles made a non-committal sound. “Or, you could just come home with me. Stay the night again.” Stiles dropped his head to the side so he could look at Derek. “If you’d like that.”

Stiles smiled. “Yes, I’d like that very much.”

* 

“Stiles!” Cora said the next morning when Stiles finally woke up and walked into the living room. He was wearing Derek’s bathrobe, which was too big and hanging loosely around his shoulders and chest. He blushed and headed back towards the door. “Wait! Where are you going?”

“I’m not quite decent for a lady to see me.”

Cora stood up and rolled her eyes. She was, of course, perfectly attired in a blue cotton dress, nylons, and heels. “Nonsense. Come, I’ll make you breakfast.” Stiles awkwardly followed her into the kitchen and sat down on the stool by the kitchen island. He pulled the robe securely around his legs to avoid any mishaps; he had failed to slip on underwear before walking out of bedroom. He still hadn’t gotten used to Derek living with a woman (even if it was Cora). Plus, his only thought that morning had been _coffee_. 

“Where’s Derek?”

Cora shrugged. “You know more about what he does than I do. He tells me nothing.” Stiles didn’t miss how bitter she sounded.

“He just wants to protect you,” Stiles said.

Cora flicked her eyes at him and glared. “Don’t,” she started with her hand up. “Don’t take up for him. I’m his sister. I deserve to know what is going on. I think sometimes he forgets that Laura was my sister, too. That I had to live through her death, that I had to deal not only with my sister dying, but with my brother completely abandoning me emotionally. He was here, but he wasn’t really _here_. He just throws money at me like it’s supposed to take the place of him actually being here for me.” Cora shook her head, tears sliding down her face. Stiles launched himself off the stool and edged around the counter to stand beside her. Cora shook her head and wiped at her eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t – “

“Shut up,” he said, pulling Cora to him. Stiles wrapped his arms around her body tightly, his chin resting on the top of her head. “I’m not taking up for him. I know how fu – um, how darn infuriating he can be.” 

Cora laughed quietly. “You can curse. I’ve said much worse. You should hear Isaac.”

“Isaac’s an ass.” Cora laughed again and Stiles smiled. He let her go and she stepped away, searching for a handkerchief. Stiles patted his pockets, but he was still only wearing Derek’s bathrobe, so he handed her a towel. “I know how infuriating Derek can be. He really is doing the best he can to protect you. You don’t realize how much he loves you.”

Cora sighed. “I do.” She leaned against the counter. “I’m glad he’s not so alone anymore. I’ve been trying to convince him to find someone for so long. I’m glad it was you.” She smiled, and Stiles felt himself blush. “I’ve missed you so much, Stiles. I haven’t seen you in so long!”

“I’ve been busy. Dodging death a few times does that to a man.” Cora narrowed her eyes. “Whoa, you look way too much like Derek when you do that.” He shuddered and shook his head, only slightly freaked out. “One Derek is enough.”

As Stiles ate his eggs, Cora said, “I’m not singing tonight. I think we should have dinner, catch up. It’s been ages since we’ve had time to talk just the two of us.”

Stiles nodded. “Okay, yeah, that sounds perfect.” 

Cora beamed.

*

Stiles didn’t see Derek all day. He spent most of the day in the office, outlining the last legs of his financial plan he was going to present to Derek. He’d been over the budgets, he’d made some calls, and he had devised a system that would save Derek thousands in the long run. Obviously, Derek just needed someone competent to run the business, because no one had run it competently in the past. Stiles knew that person was him. The rest of them might be good at the fighting and the illegal stuff, but Stiles was the financial genius.

After he got off work, he went upstairs, changed into his casual suit, and took a cab to Brooklyn Heights. Cora was waiting for him. “Dinner smells great!” he said as he walked inside. They ate steak and vegetables, laughing the entire time. Stiles nearly snorted his wine through his nose when Cora told him a story about her and Derek as children.

“You should have seen him! Walking down the road stark naked, hands covering himself, while Laura trudged beside him just as naked. My mother was livid when she found them! I’m surprised all of upstate New York didn’t hear her yelling.” Cora shook her head. “I was so much younger, so I didn’t get into the kinds of trouble they did. I was usually at home, or in the car being dragged to the scene.”

“What was he like?” Stiles asked, crossing his arms on the table as he leaned forward. “Was Derek always like he is now, so…”

“Brooding?” Cora offered with a snort.

Stiles frowned as he tried to think of ways to describe Derek. “Yeah, and intense and jaded.” 

“No. Before our father got killed in the war, he laughed and acted like any typical kid. He was quieter than Laura and me, but he was happy, loved to joke around. After our dad died, Derek changed.” Cora picked up her wine glass and stared into it. “Although Mom was the Alpha, Derek was the man of house.”

“How old was he?” Cora looked at him in question. “Derek hasn’t told me much. He doesn’t talk much to me, about anything really.” Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it residual feelings from the night before, but Stiles suddenly felt angry. 

“Are you two fighting?” Cora asked. 

“No. I mean, we had a fight last night.” Stiles sighed and ran a hand through his hair. 

“Can I ask you a question?” Stiles shrugged as he picked up his fork and pushed the remaining bits of food around on his plate. “Why are you with my brother?”

Stiles’ eyes flew up to Cora’s face. She was watching him with a hard, serious expression. “I thought you liked me with him.”

“My feelings on the matter are irrelevant. I asked you why you were with him.”

Stiles stared at the plate, trying to figure out the answer. The words wouldn’t come. The longer he tried to figure out the _why_ , the more he couldn’t. He just knew that he hated the idea of being away from Derek, but why? That he hadn’t figured out.

Cora pushed her chair away from the table. “Figure it out. You both deserve to know the answer, and Derek doesn’t deserve to get hurt.” She gathered both their plates. “And neither do you.”

*

Stiles drank too much wine, and Cora convinced him to stay the night instead of going home. “Are you sure?” Stiles asked. “Will Derek mind if he comes home and finds me in his bed?”

Cora rolled her eyes. “You’ve been in his bed more nights than not lately. I don’t think he will care.” She kissed his cheek. “I’m going to Boyd’s. He’s supposed to get off early. Treat this like your home.”

Stiles immediately went into Derek’s bedroom, stripped down to his underwear, and fell asleep on Derek’s side of the bed.

He awoke later to the sounds of the bedroom door slamming shut and footsteps falling across the floor. Stiles sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes. “Derek?” he called out. Light spilled onto the dark floor of the bedroom from the bathroom, and the sound of the sink running filled the room. 

Derek’s head popped out of the doorway. “Stiles? What are you doing here?” His voice was gruff, like gravel, and he didn’t seem pleased that Stiles was there.

“Cora said it was okay.” Stiles threw the blankets back and walked across the room to the bathroom. “We had dinner and I drank a little too much. She said I could sleep here. I didn’t think you’d – “ Stiles abruptly stopped talking when he stepped into the bathroom. 

Derek was at the sink, red blood swirling into the water from his blood-stained hands and arms. His clothes were in complete disarray and also covered in dirt and blood. His face looked pale and drawn, deep weary lines etched into his face. “What in the hell happened?”

“You weren’t supposed to be here,” Derek said to himself. He gripped the sides of the porcelain sink with shaky hands. “No one was supposed to be here.”

“Derek,” Stiles said, stepping up behind him tentatively. He placed a hand on Derek’s shoulder, and Derek jumped. “Hey, it’s okay. What happened?” His heart was pounding, his nerves tingling with panic. He ran his hands over Derek’s jacket, looking for bullet holes or knife slashes.

“I was with Peter.” Stiles looked at Derek sharply in the mirror. “We had to get some information. That information wasn’t easy to come by.”

Stiles stepped around Derek and turned off the faucet as he lifted one of Derek’s hands. Derek’s knuckles were bruised and open, some of the gashes already mostly healed, but others deeper and taking longer. When Stiles looked up at Derek, he found Derek staring at the floor as if in a daze. It was then that Stiles noticed the gash near Derek’s hairline. “Oh Derek, what did you do?” Instead of waiting for an answer, Stiles dropped his hand and turned around to run a bath. “Take off your shirt while I get a washcloth.”

After Stiles took a washcloth from a shelf, he found Derek slumped on the toilet, his soiled shirt tossed in the floor. Derek had a bruise on his side and another on his abdomen. “Bruises, too?”

“It was a rough day,” Derek said hoarsely as Stiles knelt beside him, the tile hard on his knees. 

“How many wounds did you have that have already healed?” From the slight shift in Derek’s face, Stiles could tell there had been quite a bit more damage. His mouth was a hard line as he gently pulled Derek’s hand close. The knuckles had open wounds surrounded by dirt and blood, so first he cleaned them with warm water. Derek jerked his hand back with a sudden intake of breath as Stiles wiped his wounds with the cloth.

“How did the other guy look?” Stiles finally asked.

“You don’t want to know.”

Stiles sighed. “Come on,” he said, standing up and pushing his underwear down. “In the bath.” As if on autopilot, Derek undid his belt and the fly of his trousers, and pushed them along with his underwear to the floor. Stiles went ahead and stepped into the warm water as he waited for Derek to pull off his socks.

Derek lifted his legs one at a time over the side of the tub, then lowered himself into the water, his back to Stiles. He slumped forward, his forearms resting on his knees as he slid his hands into his hair. Stiles didn’t miss the way his shoulders were trembling. 

Stiles felt so helpless, unsure of how to get Derek to snap out of it, stop trembling, stop looking like that. The look on Derek’s face twisted and settled unpleasantly in the pit of his stomach.

He reached out and ran his hands over the wide expanse of Derek’s back, tracing the shifting planes of muscle all the way to his waist, then pressed his thumbs on either side of Derek’s spine and slid them all the way up to the knob at the base of his neck. He kneaded his fingers into the tense chords of his neck.

He heard Derek exhale a shaky breath. He was definitely shaken up, and Stiles was worried.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Stiles asked quietly.

“No.”

Stiles sighed again and grabbed the washcloth from the toilet lid. He soaped it and washed Derek’s back, rubbing gently across his skin. After he rinsed Derek’s back, he tugged him flush against his chest. Stiles turned and dropped a kiss against Derek’s temple before he lifted Derek’s hand. The wounds were mostly healed, but there was dirt and blood caked into his fingernails. Stiles took the rag and scrubbed at Derek’s fingers, cleaning underneath the nails, around the nail beds, and in the creases of skin. 

The entire time, he tried not to think about what Derek had been doing, how many men he may have killed with those same hands only hours before. He tried not to think of why Derek had bruises and gashes. He definitely didn’t want to think about what Cora had asked him earlier, or to examine closely why he was sitting in a bathtub in the middle of the night scrubbing blood from Derek’s hands.

After he finished, he washed Derek’s hair and carefully rinsed the soap away. Then, he wrapped his arms around Derek and held him, listening to the quiet sound of Derek’s breaths. He scratched his nails along Derek’s chest, trying to calm his heart. 

“You’re worried,” Derek said after a long time.

“Well, yes. You come home covered in blood; how am I not supposed to be worried?”

“You shouldn’t worry about me,” Derek said.

“Why?”

“Because it doesn’t matter.”

“No, what you’re really saying is _you_ don’t matter,” Stiles said, raising his voice. “Which is bullshit. You may loathe yourself, but you have people who think you matter a great deal.” Stiles pushed at Derek’s shoulders and back to move him away enough so he could get out of the tub. “Get off me.”

“Stiles,” Derek said, but Stiles was already halfway out. When he set his other foot onto the floor, he slipped and fell onto all fours, cracking his knee on the cold tile. Derek was immediately out of the tub, sloshing water everywhere. He gently grabbed Stiles’ arms and helped him to his feet. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Stiles said, shaking off Derek’s hands. “Just, stop.”

“What’s wrong?” Derek asked, sounding tired and defeated. He sat back on the edge of the tub, dripping water everywhere.

Stiles spun around and glared, his pent up anger exploding. “You are so fucking selfish!” Stiles yelled. “You act like you don’t matter and no one gives a damn about you, but you have a whole fucking Pack that relies on you. You have a sister who was crying to me today because she’s worried about you. How do you think Cora will feel if something happens to you? You’re the only thing she has left, or have you forgotten that part?” Stiles started pacing back and forth in the small bathroom.

“Don’t you think I know that, Stiles?” Derek asked. He watched Stiles like a hawk, his hand twitching every time he thought Stiles was about to slip. 

Stiles stopped and faced Derek. “Do you? Because I’m not sure you do.” He wiped a hand over his wet hair. “And what about me? Huh? Don’t you think that _I fucking think you matter?_ ” Derek winced as Stiles yelled louder than he intended, but he was furious now. He was just fucking done with all of this.

“I know that,” Derek said with a sigh, his shoulders slumped forward. 

“I don’t think you do,” Stiles said. He grabbed a towel from the shelf and started drying himself.

“Are you leaving?” 

“Not planning on it,” Stiles snapped. “I’m just freezing my balls off here, so I thought I’d get dry and perhaps put on a robe before we fought anymore.”

Derek stood up and took a step towards Stiles, and then wrapped his arms around Stiles’ body from behind. He buried his face into Stiles’ neck and just inhaled. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

“I don’t want to fight with you, either. This is not the way I planned to spend my night.” Derek turned his face and kissed behind Stiles’ ear, his nose dragging against the shell and his stubble scraping against Stiles’ damp skin. “Don’t think you can just kiss your way out of this.”

“I’m not trying to,” Derek said. “I just don’t like it when you feel like this, when I feel so far away from you.”

Stiles sighed and sagged his weight into Derek’s arms. Derek grabbed the towel from Stiles and finished drying him off, under his arms, the soles of his feet, even behind his balls and between his cheeks. It was so tender, so intimate, that Stiles felt like he had emotional whiplash. One minute he was angry and ready to run out, and now his heart was swollen with affection for Derek.

“Is it always going to be like this?” Stiles asked as he turned in Derek’s embrace and ran the towel down Derek’s chest. 

“I don’t know,” Derek said. “I sometimes don’t know how to live.”

Stiles didn’t know how to respond as he toweled Derek’s hair, neck, and shoulders. How did you respond to something like that? How could Stiles ever have a normal relationship, be happy if Derek felt this way?

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Derek said, his eyes flicking up to Stiles’. He put his palm flat over Stiles’ heart and kept it there. “You’re not happy.”

“Do you know what Cora asked me today?” Stiles asked, letting the towel drop from his fingertips. “She asked me why I was with you.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I didn’t know the answer.”

Derek dropped his hand and stepped away. “If you don’t want to – “

“Stop right there,” Stiles said. “I am not letting you martyr yourself once again because of this.” Stiles sighed and walked into the bedroom; he didn’t wait to see if Derek followed him. He went straight to the bed and crawled underneath the sheets, shivering.

“So, you’re staying?” Derek asked from where he stood awkwardly by the bed. 

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Get in the bed.” As soon as Derek hit the sheets, Stiles curled against him. “You’re like a heater.”

“You’re freezing,” Derek said as he snugly wrapped his arms around Stiles. “You’re shivering.”

“I want to be with you, Derek. I want you to talk to me, and tell me things, and tell me about your life. Cora told me more about you in half an hour than you’ve _ever_ told me. How do you think that made me feel?”

“I don’t make it a habit of talking about myself.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“It has nothing to do with you.”

Stiles sighed. “I know.”

Derek pulled back enough to look at Stiles. “What do you want to know?”

“Things, Derek. Your life. Anything you want to tell me. But I want _you_ to do it because you want to, not because I am making you.”

Derek ran a hand over his face. “Stiles, this is…new for me. Being with someone, sharing things…Cora is the only person I haven’t lost. I’m…trying. But until Gerard Argent is dealt with and my Pack, my sister, and you are safe…”

Stiles suddenly felt exhausted. Like a bone weary exhaustion, deep inside his soul. Between fighting with Derek, things with his dad…fuck, he even missed Scott. 

“I thought this would be easier,” Stiles admitted as he pulled Derek back to him. “I just…I want you to know that I’m here for you, Derek. That I want to be here. For whatever reason, I’d rather be in your bed in the middle of the night arguing than any other place in the world.”

“I want you to be here, too.” Derek dropped a kiss on top of Stiles’ head.

“Did you find what you wanted today?”

“Yes.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Yes.”

“Will you tell me about it?”

“Not tonight.” Stiles sighed and craned his head to look up at Derek. Derek looked tired and worn thin, a haunted look in his eyes Stiles hadn’t ever seen there before. Derek reached out and cupped Stiles’ face and rubbed his thumb underneath his eye. 

“How many nights have you washed the blood off your hands,” Stiles asked, “and then went to bed alone?”

“Too many.” Derek tugged Stiles under the arms, urging him up. Stiles sat up, and Derek threw his leg over Stiles’ body, straddling his lap. He pressed both his hands against the headboard beside Stiles’ head, caging him in. “I’m glad you were here tonight,” Derek said as he brushed his lips over Stiles’ nose. “I’m glad that you’re in my life, that you call me on my shit, and that you keep me out of my head.”

Stiles was pretty sure no one had ever said anything so important to him before.

Derek started rocking his hips as he covered Stiles’ mouth with his own. Stiles felt the emotion of the night buzzing underneath his skin and trying to claw out, and it made every touch of Derek’s skin, every roll of his hips, that much more intense.

Derek’s mouth was hot and demanding, taking and claiming as he hovered over Stiles. Stiles reached out and gripped Derek’s ass, squeezing the firm flesh and pulling him even closer. Derek’s half-hard cock brushed against his own, sending sparks of electricity through Stiles’ body. Derek licked a wet stripe down his palm before he reached between them and took their cocks in his large hand. Stiles let his head fall back against the headboard with a moan, and Derek immediately leaned forward and sunk blunt teeth into the flesh of his neck. Stiles bucked, the dull pain shooting straight to his cock.

He didn’t know why he was with Derek. There were so many reasons not to be. He was a werewolf. He was a bootlegger who dealt in almost entirely illegal business practices. Fuck, associating with Derek had caused his separation from his father. Derek killed people and had connections with the mob.

But none of that seemed to matter as Derek’s solid body writhed on top of him, and Derek’s breathy whines slithered into his ear. Stiles slid his hands down Derek’s back, reveling in the feeling of hot skin beneath his touch. He melted into Derek’s mouth, their tongues dancing together in a desperate dance of want and need and unspoken promises. But it wasn’t just the sex. Stiles could have sex with anyone. There was something magnetic about Derek that extended beyond his good looks, something soft and vulnerable that Derek showed Stiles when he let his guard down, something so good that Stiles wanted to help Derek rediscover. 

Stiles wanted Derek to see himself like he saw him.

Stiles dipped his fingers between Derek’s cheeks, feeling the soft hairs beneath his fingertips and the warm, moist flesh before his fingers dragged against Derek’s hole. Derek made a noise that was something between a whine and growl before his hips jerked, come sliding down his hands and onto Stiles’ stomach. Derek tightened his hand, his fist sliding slickly along their shafts, as he kissed Stiles deeply. Stiles gripped Derek’s ass as he rocked into Derek’s fist, and then came.

Derek rested his forehead against Stiles’ as Stiles breathed heavily against Derek’s mouth. “And we just got clean,” Stiles said as Derek removed his sticky hand. Derek dropped a quick kiss to his lips before getting off the bed and picking one of the discarded towels from the floor. He leaned over Stiles as he wiped his belly clean, then dropped a kiss to his belly button, his stubble tickling Stiles’ skin and making him giggle.

Afterwards, they lay there for a long time, with Stiles’ arms wrapped around Derek’s body. Derek’s back was solid and warm against his chest, and he could feel Derek’s heart beating under his palm where it lay flat on Derek’s chest, Derek’s hand covering his. Stiles stared out the window at the river until he finally felt Derek relax in his arms and fall into a fitful sleep.

But even then, Stiles just held Derek as he slept, his brain and feelings too jumbled to do more than doze and jerk awake every time Derek growled or mumbled his way through a nightmare.

*

Stiles was slumped over his desk and barely conscious when the sound of someone clearing their throat cut through his haze. He looked up groggily to find Lydia staring at him impatiently.

“What?” Stiles thought he asked, but then again, his mouth wasn’t properly working. 

“Get up.” She crossed her arms and tapped the toe of her pumps. “I’m getting you coffee, and then I’m driving you into Manhattan.”

“What? No.” Stiles shook his head and dropped it onto his arms. “Nope. I’m gonna stay right here and sleep. Sleep is good.”

“Stiles!” she exclaimed, her screeching voice grating on his nerves.

“Oh my god,” Stiles snapped as he lifted his head. “That is the most annoying sound I have ever heard. Ever.”

“Look,” she said as she came around the desk and pulled at his arms. “I’ve already okayed it with Derek. You get the afternoon off because I need you.”

“What do you need?” Stiles asked as he let Lydia drag him from the chair and over to the coat rack by the door. “Why are we going to Manhattan?” He accepted his jacket and hat before Lydia pushed him off of her. She straightened her dress and the put her own hat on her head.

“I’ll explain in the car after I’ve given you coffee.” True to her word, she managed to find Stiles a large mug of coffee before they climbed into her car and headed towards the bridge. “I’m taking you to buy a new suit.”

“What’s wrong with my suit?” Stiles asked, looking down at his clothes. 

“Except for the fact that you only own one good suit? Nothing.”

“Not all of us are rich like you, Lydia. Some of us work for a living.”

She rolled her eyes. “Tonight, you’re accompanying me to my parent’s house for dinner.”

“Um, no, I’m not.” Stiles looked at her like she was crazy.

“Stiles, please,” Lydia begged. “My dad is demanding that I come to dinner and bring the fellow who’s courting me.”

“Lydia, you’re with Allison.”

“Yes, Stiles, I’m perfectly aware of _who_ I’m actually with.” She huffed. “My father believes that I am seeing a young man from Harvard. It keeps him happy and off my back, and I am free to be with Allison.” Lydia took her eyes off the road momentarily as she glanced at Stiles. “I need you to pose as my beau.”

“What? Me? N-oooo,” Stiles said, shaking his head adamantly. “No way, Lydia. This plan has disaster written all over it, in big shining letters.”

“Stiles, please!”

“Can’t you take someone else? Derek, Isaac, Boyd, Scott? Anyone?”

Lydia gripped the steering wheel tightly in her gloved hands. “Isaac has already pretended to be my boyfriend, as has Derek.”

“Oh, that’s a story I have _got_ to hear.”

Lydia ignored him as she continued. “I can’t bring them home again or my father will think that I am serious about one of them and start hinting at marriage.”

“Okay. That still leaves Boyd and Scott.”

“Boyd is black and Scott is Hispanic. Do you realize what my father would say if I brought either one of them home?”

“I’m Polish,” Stiles pointed out. “Can’t quite hide the fact of that with my last name.”

“You won’t be using your real name,” Lydia said. “But you can easily pass as a Harvard student with a Nuevo riche family from out west.”

“This is going to be a disaster,” Stiles grumbled as he slumped down into his seat.

“Look at it this way,” Lydia said. “You get to eat good food and get a new suit in exchange for one evening of pretending to adore me.” She turned and smiled at him. “It shouldn’t be that difficult. You already adore me.”

Stiles grumbled. “Which is the only reason I’m agreeing to this ridiculous plan.”

*

“Stop fidgeting,” Lydia hissed under her breath as Stiles stood in the foyer of Lydia’s parents’ home. No, home was the wrong word. This place was a manor. It put every other residence he’d ever seen to shame. The foyer was bigger than the apartment he shared with his father. 

The foyer was brightly lit with mahogany and marble everywhere. The room was sparsely yet tastefully decorated, and there was a large chandelier hanging from the ceiling and two curved staircases leading upstairs. A butler took Stiles’ hat along with Lydia’s hat and gloves.

“You’ll be fine,” Lydia said, squeezing his hand. “Just remember, only speak when spoken to.”

Stiles nodded as he tried to look unimpressed with the house. He was supposed to be rich; rich people didn’t gawk.

“Lydia, dear,” her mother said as she took both her hands and squeezed them. “I’m so glad to see you. I feel that between our busy schedules, we never see each other.” She was a beautiful woman, and it was easy to see where Lydia got her looks.

Lydia smiled sweetly. “I’m pleased to see you too, Mother.”

“This must be your handsome gentleman friend,” her mother said, turning to Stiles. “Welcome to our home.”

“Thank you for having me.” 

“Harvard. That is quite impressive,” her mother said with a smile. “What are you studying?”

“History,” Stiles replied. He and Lydia had decided that pretending he was going to be a lawyer would just have been a disaster.

“History?” Lydia’s mother replied, her nose tilting slightly. “Oh.”

Lydia placed her hand on Stiles’ forearm. “Stephen plans on being a professor one day.”

“That’s nice, dear,” her mother replied, clearly uninterested. Stiles tried to remember it didn’t matter if Lydia’s mother was unimpressed by his fake future plans. “Your father is waiting in the dining room.” 

They followed her mother into the large dining room, where her father was standing at the head of an absurdly long table. Stiles was pretty sure they could fit the entire speakeasy around that single table. “Lydia,” her father said. 

“Father,” she replied, letting him pull her close and drop a chaste kiss on her cheek. 

“Robert Martin,” her father said as he stuck his hand out to Stiles. Stiles was pretty sure it was a challenge, a secret way of evaluating him and his overall worth. Stiles just hoped that his hands weren’t sweaty.

“Stephen Smith,” Stiles said. They’d decided Smith was such a generic name that there was no way her father would figure out that wasn’t Stiles’ real name.

“Please, sit.” Stiles glanced over at Lydia, who gave him an encouraging smile as they sat down.

Dinner turned out to be more awkward than expected, though not a disaster. Lydia’s parents grilled her about everything from her choice of colleges to her habits of going to the theater too often. Halfway through the meal, Robert turned to Stiles and said, “So Stephen, what do you think of this speakeasy craze?”

Stiles took a breath as he collected his thoughts. He and Lydia had talked about this. “I believe that a man should be legally able to partake in a good brandy in the evenings, but I believe speakeasies are obscene. We should keep our women as far away from that filth as possible.” Robert eyed him for a moment before nodding. 

“So, you say your family is in oil out west?”

“Yes,” Stiles said and proceeded to describe the fake oil franchise they’d created. 

Sometime during the discussion of oil prices, Lydia had piped up with something she had read in the _New York Times_ , and without even turning to her, Robert said, “Lydia, don’t interrupt. The men are talking.” Stiles grabbed her hand under the table and squeezed it.

Robert shot her down three other times by the end of dinner, once when she tried to voice an opinion on the Volstead Act, and twice when she tried to discuss the Coolidge administration. The second time she interrupted them, Robert sighed and turned to Lydia and said, “Lydia, I am aware that women received the right to vote a few years ago, but that doesn’t mean that I want to hear what one has to say in my own home. You’re embarrassing me and your young gentleman.”

Stiles had a very difficult time not launching himself across the table and punching her father. He thought that would probably be in bad form.

Before they left, Robert walked them to the foyer, his hand clapped on Stiles’ shoulder. “I very much enjoyed our discussion, Stephen. I am quite pleased that Lydia has found herself such a bright young fellow. If she only has the sense to hold on to you.” He laughed, and Stiles joined him awkwardly. “Maybe you can rein her in a bit. We’ve tried, but she has too much spirit. Maybe you can break some of that spirit, tame her, convince her to forgo this college nonsense and finally settle down.” He patted Stiles on the shoulder, kissed Lydia on the cheek, and then disappeared upstairs, leaving Lydia and Stiles alone.

“Are you – “

“I’m fine!” Lydia exclaimed, clutching her handbag tightly. She walked over to the phone sitting on the table along the wall. Stiles waited as the operator connected her. “Erica? Can you put Allison on?” Lydia paused, and then said. “Will Derek let you off early…worse…we’ll come pick you up…an hour or so?” Lydia set the ear piece back into place, then stood up, squared her shoulders, and strode out of the house.

*

“Do you want to talk about it?” Stiles asked once they were back in the car.

“No.”

“You should.”

“There’s nothing to discuss,” Lydia replied stiffly. 

“Why don’t you stand up to them?” Stiles replied.

“I’m a woman; it’s not my place,” Lydia said, in a very uncharacteristic way. “Besides, I’d lose my inheritance.”

“What are you going to do when they expect you to get married?” Stiles asked. “Are you going to get married just for the inheritance?”

“I’m their only child,” Lydia said. “I can put it off for a long time yet.”

“Lydia – “

“Stiles, I don’t meddle in your business, so don’t meddle in mine.”

“You dragged me into your business by making me pretend I was some Nuevo riche asshole from Harvard. _Stephen_ was the very antithesis of me.”

“Lydia Martin is the antithesis of me,” she said.

Suddenly, Stiles felt extremely sad and saw Lydia in a completely different light. She always pretended to be a confident society girl with everything together. It was all an act.

“Why aren’t you already engaged?” Stiles asked. “Part of some arranged marriage?”

“I was,” Lydia admitted. “To Jackson Whittemore.”

“JACKSON?” Stiles exclaimed. “Like, Jackson from school, Jackson?” She nodded. “Why? How? What?”

“The Whittemores are one of the most prominent families in Manhattan. It only made sense for their son to marry me. Except, I didn’t want to get married, especially not to Jackson. I convinced my mother to let me go to college instead of getting married, which was not easy. Though Jackson’s general disposition and his penchant for philandering didn’t help his case.” Lydia smirked. “Our mothers took pains to hush it up, but it caused quite the little scandal. He’s going to Yale in the fall, and I’m going to Barnard. My father wants me to be married to a proper man of his choosing, and my mother wants my father to be happy.”

“What do you want, Lydia?” Stiles asked. 

A soft smile came over her face. “I want to become the first female senator to serve a full term, not just a single day. But before I do that, I want to dance all night, every night, and drink and travel to Europe and have fun with my friends. But most of all, I just want to marry Allison and be happy.”

As Stiles watched Allison and Lydia holding on to each other down by the river, Allison whispering quiet reassurances into Lydia’s ear as the three of them passed a bootlegged bottle of whiskey between them that Allison brought from the speakeasy, he wondered if it was possible for any of them to ever be happy. They were living on the brink of a new age, with dancing and drinking and glamorous clothes and frivolity the likes of which had never been seen. But when the music ended, when the lights shut off, when the makeup was wiped away and the fancy clothes were draped over the back of a chair, the only thing they were left with was silence and an overwhelming sense of emptiness.

*

Stiles sat at the end of the bar, away from the crowd that had gathered around Erica. She was trying a new tactic to get tips tonight; her men’s dress shirt had been tailored so it fit her tightly, and unlike most of the girls who dressed in fashion, she didn’t take her breasts down. She had unbuttoned the shirt the lowest Stiles had ever seen, until you could see the top of her brassiere. Derek kept telling her to button her shirt, and she kept resolutely ignoring him.

Allison came up to him during a lull. “Thanks for last night,” she said. “For going with Lydia and being there for her.”

“Have you met her parents?” Stiles asked. Allison nodded. “Her dad…I never want to meet him again.”

“Lydia tries to spend as little time as possible around him. He works most of the time, so it’s not difficult.” Allison reached out and squeezed Stiles’ hand. “I just wanted to say thank you. I’m glad that she can count on you when I can’t be there.” Stiles smiled before Allison disappeared down the bar.

Ten minutes later, Derek slid a teacup across the counter. Stiles grinned and brought it to his lips. A Howlin’ Wolf, his special drink. “You are so good to me,” Stiles said after he swallowed.

“Lydia’s dad gave you a hard time?” Derek leaned forward on the bar, resting his forearms along the marred wood. Stiles nodded and took another sip. Derek said, “He hated me. He apparently told Lydia I was of questionable stock.” The corner of Derek’s mouth twitched.

“You are definitely questionable,” Stiles teased. “I question my decision to be around you every day.” Derek didn’t smile, and Stiles wondered if the teasing had gone a bit too far. But Derek leaned across the bar and brushed his lips against Stiles’ lightly. Stiles smiled despite himself. “Public displays of affection,” he said when Derek went back to his side of the counter. “People are going to start questioning your tough image.” Derek just shrugged.

Stiles had opened his mouth to make a joke when suddenly, a series of red lights lit up around the room. Stiles stared around in a panic, and Derek looked at him and shouted, “Raid!”

The whole place was a madhouse. People were screaming and running around searching for the emergency exits. Lydia and Scott ran around the room and poured alcohol from teacups into the floor drains while Boyd directed people towards the secret passages as he pushed his way through the crowd to get to Cora. Allison and Erica threw bottles of liquor into secret compartments – behind cabinets, in hidden drawers, and underneath tables – while Derek opened up a large hidden trap door in the floor. “Stiles,” Derek shouted over the din as he descended the stairs, his head sticking up through the floor, “hand me those crates. Hurry!” Stiles handed Derek a crate, which Derek dropped as Stiles grabbed the other and handed it to him. Stiles heard glass break as he scooped up armfuls of bottles. “Down here!” Derek yelled, and Stiles threw them into the large hole in the floor. He turned back, double-checked around the bar, and found a few other bottles on a shelf and tossed them in a secret compartment. 

There was still a flurry of patrons running around, and Stiles saw policemen filing in through the door. The others had disappeared while Stiles was stashing bottles, most likely down into the floor since that door was now closed and hidden. Stiles saw Derek by the far wall and made to run towards him when a hand grabbed his shoulder.

“Hold it there. You’re under arrest,” Stiles heard as he was jerked around. His mouth fell open in shock when he looked into the face of his father.

“Dad?”

Derek had just run up behind him, and looked between them in surprise. The sheriff glanced back over his shoulder, then he pushed Stiles as his eyes flicked to Derek’s hand curling against Stiles’ waist. 

“Run! Go! Get out here!” Stiles hesitated, because it was his dad, and he hadn’t seen him in ages, and he just looked so _tired_. “Stiles! Hurry!”

“Stiles, come on,” Derek said, yanking Stiles away as he threaded their fingers and ran quickly through the mania in the speakeasy. Derek slipped into a door that Stiles didn’t even know existed, and led him through the black tunnels. Stiles tripped every few steps as Derek led them up the stairs, but he held onto Derek’s hand tightly, trusting him to carefully navigate them. The only thing Stiles could concentrate on was his dad’s face, and the pain and disappointment there.

Stiles barreled into Derek’s broad chest when Derek suddenly stopped and turned around. “Why did you stop moving? Why with the stopping? I don’t want to be arrested.”

“They’re not going to find us in here,” Derek said. He reached out and cupped Stiles’ face.

“What’s it like seeing in the dark?” Stiles babbled. “Is it like shadows and outlines, or can you like see colors and everything about me?”

“Stiles,” Derek said, his other hand snaking around his waist. “Are you okay?”

“I’m super. I mean, why wouldn’t I be? You and I have been arguing for days, and Lydia’s dad treats her like she’s nothing, and I’ve barely seen Scott in over a month, and you came home covered in blood because you were torturing people for information about the people who tried to kill us, and we just got raided, and my dad just found me in a speakeasy and almost arrested me. What’s not to be okay about?” Stiles felt his heart racing, his panic rising. 

Oh god, his dad. Now his dad knew _exactly_ what Stiles had been doing, had caught him red-handed; and shit, did his dad see Derek’s hand on his waist, their fingers laced together as they ran? Not exactly the reunion he had in mind. “Hey Dad, I’ve been hanging out at speakeasies, and oh yeah, this is my lover, who is also a man. Surprise!” The only thing that would have made all of that better would have been Derek wolfed out over a dead body with Peter Hale beside him.

“Hey,” Derek said, hands wrapped around Stiles’ neck soothingly. The edge of panic eased away, his chest loosening as he concentrated on Derek’s rough fingertips against his skin. “You’re safe. You’re not going to be arrested.” Stiles wished he could tell Derek everything about his dad, but he figured this probably wasn’t the time. “Is everything going to be okay with your father?”

“Yeah,” Stiles lied, and he didn’t need to be able to see in the dark to know Derek didn’t believe him. “It’ll be fine.” Derek leaned forward then and kissed him gently, a soft press of lips as his tongue slid inside his mouth. Stiles gripped onto Derek’s arms, letting him support him for a moment, take some of the weight, and subsequently the stress, frustration, and pain.

“You can talk to me, you know,” Derek said when he pulled away. He peppered kisses along Stiles’ jaw. 

Stiles laughed. “Hypocrite.”

“Stiles, I’m serious.” Derek pressed a kiss behind Stiles’ ear, which Stiles had started calling Derek’s Spot. “Something’s going on, and I want you to tell me after all this settles down.”

“Fine, whatever you say.”

Derek kissed him again and then led them the rest of the way. The passage ended in a door on the ceiling, that opened on the floor of the roof. Derek climbed the short ladder and hoisted himself onto the roof, then waited as Stiles did the same. Stiles looked around, unsure of what to do next.

“Now what?”

“We jump.”

“WHAT?” Stiles yelled. 

Derek pointed to the next building over. “We jump. It’s not very far.”

“For a werewolf, maybe.” 

Derek glanced at the space between the two rooftops, and then back at Stiles. “Climb on my back.” Stiles stared at him. “Do you trust me?” Stiles nodded. “Then climb onto my back.”

“This is ridiculous,” Stiles muttered as he jumped onto Derek’s back, locking his arms around his neck and his legs around his torso. “You better not drop me.”

“Then don’t let go.” Derek craned his head over his shoulder and pecked Stiles’ quickly on the lips. Stiles buried his face into Derek’s neck and shoulder as Derek ran. “Hold tight,” Derek said as he picked up speed, and then Stiles felt like he was floating for a second before they hit the hard impact of the other building’s roof.

“Are we dead?” Stiles said, voice muffled by Derek’s skin. 

“No.” Derek kissed Stiles’ arm that was still held in a death grip around his neck. Stiles opened his eyes and saw that, indeed, they were alive and on the next roof. He let go and dropped to the ground shakily. “I’ve got to go check on the Pack, then figure out what happened,” Derek said as he broke the handle on the door on the roof. “You go home and get some sleep.”

“Are you going to be okay? You’re not going to end up in jail are you?”

“I hope not.” 

They walked silently through the empty office building until they made it to the front door. Before Derek unlocked it, he pulled Stiles into a deep kiss. Then, they stepped into the night, and Derek disappeared into the shadows.

Stiles didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t go to the theater, which was his home now. He couldn’t go to the apartment, even though he’s sure his dad would be working all night. If Cora was home, he might be able to go there, but she was probably with Boyd. He started walking, and his feet carried him to right outside Isaac’s building. 

Well, his feet knew better than he did what Stiles needed. He ascended the stairs, hoping Scott was there. Stiles had never been so happy to see Scott’s face as when he opened the door.

“Stiles! Thank God!” Scott moved to the side to let him inside. “Isaac went back to the theater to see if he could find out anything.”

“What happened to everyone else?” Stiles asked as he dropped onto the couch. 

“Everyone’s been accounted for except Erica and Allison.”

“Shit.”

“Where’s Derek?”

Stiles waved his hand around. “Went to check on everyone.” He ran a hand through his hair. “My dad was there.”

“Shit.”

Stiles stared at the floor, and he found himself telling Scott about everything. His dad kicking him out, the fights with Derek, all of it. Halfway through, Scott poured them both glasses of whiskey, and when Stiles was finished, Scott just poured them another glass and offered him the couch.

*

This was bad. All of this was bad. Derek wasn’t sure how they had gotten raided, but he was furious. He had too much shit going on to deal with a raid.

Derek heard a sound behind him and crouched down, but was met only with Isaac. He straightened up. “What are you doing here?”

“Could ask you the same thing.” Isaac looked around the corner at the theater, where the cops were hauling a few unfortunate customers into police trucks. “Are they going to shut us down?”

“Probably not,” Derek said. A thought occurred to him as he watched the scene. “This was a warning.”

“Huh?”

“Gerard Argent works with the Prohibition agents.” Derek swore and punched the wall, breaking the skin on his knuckles. “Why didn’t I see it before? God, I’m so blind.”

“Derek, you couldn’t have known.”

“Did everyone else get home?”

Isaac shook his head. “Erica, Allison, and Stiles aren’t accounted for.”

“Stiles was with me,” Derek said. “He’s fine. Do you think Erica and Allison…” Derek glanced at the police trucks. “Fuck.” He ran a hand over his face. “Want to aid me in a few things?”

“That’s why I’m here,” Isaac responded.

First, they went to Chris’ apartment in the south corner of Flatbush. He cursed loudly and lit up a cigarette when they told him what happened. “What do you mean that _both_ Allison and Erica got arrested?” he called from the bedroom where he was putting on pants.

Derek sat at the small kitchen table with Isaac. Isaac grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl and started eating. “Have you spoken to your father?”

“No, why?” Chris asked, head poking out of the door with a cigarette dangling between his lips. “Fuck, do you think he did this?”

“I don’t know, but it’s likely.” Derek sighed. 

“Jesus Christ, Derek, what the fuck did you do to piss him off?” Chris said as he walked from the bedroom stuffing his shirt into his pants. Ashes fell from the tip of his cigarette. 

“You mean, other than existing?” Derek said wryly. “There’s a long list.”

“In the last few days, jackass.” Chris took a deep drag from his cigarette before placing it into an ashtray and pulling on his holster.

“Are you two done verbally fucking each other?” Isaac said as he cleaned the last bit of apple from the core. “There are things that need to be done tonight that don’t include you two flirting.”

“Fuck off, Lahey,” Chris spat. Derek rolled his eyes.

“Peter and I…” Derek paused, and then figured there was nothing he could do about it now. “We interrogated some of his hunters and agents.”

Chris stopped and said, “By interrogated, you mean – “

“They’re dead.”

“Jumping fucking Josephines,” Chris said. “You have a goddamn death wish, do you know that?” He picked up his cigarette and finished sucking it down.

“We needed information, we acquired that information.”

“Were you in on this?” Chris asked Isaac. 

Isaac shook his head. Then he said, “Does it seem to you awfully suspicious that the only two people who go missing are the two connected to you?” He pointed at Chris. Derek exhaled heavily; he’d been thinking the exact same thing, but hadn’t been able to voice it yet.

Chris stubbed out his cigarette and pointed his finger with his other hand. “I swear to fucking god, Derek. If my daughter gets killed because of your bullshit, I will skin you myself.”

*

Allison was being held in lock up in a precinct in the north end of Brooklyn. Chris went in with the bail money, and Derek and Isaac remained in the car. Derek’s eyes scanned the entire area, but caught nothing out of the ordinary. 

An hour later, Chris finally came out with Allison. Derek slapped Isaac’s arm to wake him up. He jumped up and looked around frantically before figuring out his surroundings. Chris opened the door, and then Allison crawled into the back. Allison’s eyes were red from where she had been crying.

“Drive,” Chris said, and Derek started the car and pulled away from the station.

“What happened?” Derek asked.

“These guys grabbed us even though there were ten other people closer to them,” Allison said through her sniffles. “It’s like they wanted us. They came straight for us.”

“What happened to Erica?” Derek asked, the dread growing in his gut.

“I don’t know,” Allison said. “Different men pulled her away.”

Derek half-listened as Chris murmured to Allison for the rest of the drive to Chris’ apartment. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, trying not to overreact. Erica could be fine, just in another jail. He had contacts he’d get in touch with later.

After they dropped Chris and Allison off, Isaac said, “She’s still alive.”

“Shut up,” Derek snapped.

“We’ll find her,” Isaac said, ignoring him. “We found Stiles, Stiles was there to save you. We’ll find Erica, I know it.”

Derek wasn’t so sure. He’d been lucky lately; he knew better than anyone that his luck was going to soon run out.

*

The sun had just risen by the time Derek had dropped Isaac off and driven back to the theater. The door was padlocked, but Derek easily scaled the wall and slipped in through the door on the roof. He went down into the basement and surveyed the damage. The Prohis hadn’t found most of the liquor, so Derek hoped this all would turn out okay. He couldn’t afford to lose the Sour Wolf.

He spent the morning checking every inch of the speakeasy and theater, looking for anything that seemed suspicious or out of place. Everything seemed in perfect order until he stepped into the attic. The moment he opened the door, he was hit with the thick scent of _Stiles_.

Confused, Derek walked further into the room. In the entire time he had owned the theater, he didn’t think he had ever set foot inside the attic. As he looked around, he discovered that it looked like a bedroom instead of a storage area. Boxes had been pushed against the walls, covered with sheets and table clothes to turn them into makeshift tables, with books and lamps set on top. Along the far wall, Derek discovered an old chaise lounge that was much too short and narrow that had been made up into a bed. He leaned down and the linens reeked of Stiles.

Derek sat on the chaise lounge, his head reeling. This didn’t make any sense. Along the wall, the few clothes that Stiles owned were hung on hangers that hooked on nails sticking out of the wall, the rest of his clothes neatly folded on a box covered with a floral sheet. Another box-table held non-perishable food and a few dishes.

Stiles was living at the theater. He’d been lying about living with his father for Derek didn’t know how long, but it was awhile. The room looked like Stiles had been there for quite some time.

He stayed there for awhile before he couldn’t handle it anymore. He gave the too-small chaise lounge one more glance before gathering up some of Stiles’ clothes and necessities and then making his way back to the roof.

*

Derek found Finstock with his usual whores mid-morning. “Derek!” Finstock said. “If I’d known you were coming, I’d have gotten Greenberg to arrange for you some company!”

“I’m here on business,” Derek snapped, glaring at the two topless prostitutes hanging onto Finstock. They glanced at him nervously before leaving the room. After they were gone, Derek said, “Did you know I was going to be raided last night?”

“WHAT?” Finstock yelled, his face red, his eyes looking like they were about to pop out of his head. “That was not on the official books. I’ve paid off all the right people.”

“Well, it happened,” Derek said. “I think Gerard Argent was behind it.” Finstock didn’t look surprised. “What?”

“There’s been some talk he’s been asking about you. But it’s all been hearsay and not very much.”

“Fuck, Bobby. You’re supposed to keep me informed about this kind of stuff!” Derek growled in frustration. “If you’re not telling me this shit, then what the fuck am I paying you for?”

“Look,” Finstock said as he leaned forward, “let me go talk to some people. I’ll find out what’s going on. We’ll meet back up this afternoon, okay?”

Derek nodded. “You better bring me some fucking answers if you expect to see any more money.” He got out of his chair and stormed out of the cathouse.

*

None of his police contacts knew anything about Erica or where she was being held. Derek spent most of the morning on the phone, trying to find something out about her. He started worrying about Stiles when he thought about him living in the theater and the theater being shut down, but when he called Isaac, he told Derek that Stiles was asleep on his couch. At least Stiles was somewhere safe.

Derek met with Finstock again that afternoon at the same cathouse. Finstock didn’t look upset, so Derek felt a bit of relief. 

“They’re slapping you with a fine,” Finstock said. “If you pay me now, I can make a call and get the theater unlocked so you can reopen tonight.”

“Just let me know how much,” Derek said. “What else?”

“Gerard Argent was in charge of the raid. Got an anonymous tip, he said. Whether that’s true or a bunch of horseshit, I don’t know. But he seemed pleased about something, but whenever I started sniffing around, asking questions, everyone clammed up tighter than a virgin’s legs before her wedding day.”

Derek’s mouth set in a hard line. “They know you’re working with me,” Derek said. He stood up to leave. “Just watch your back, okay?”

*

Cora was staying the night at Boyd’s since Derek didn’t plan to open the Sour Wolf back up again until the next night. “Just…stay with Boyd. Stay together,” Derek told her.

“I will,” she said, the line crackling. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I won’t,” Derek said, staring at the mouthpiece. He thought about what Stiles had said, thought about the raid, about Erica still missing, about Gerard Argent being behind it all. “Hey.”

“Yes?”

“I…uh, I love you,” he muttered.

Cora was silent for a long time, but then she said, “I love you, too.” Derek replaced the ear piece, smiling softly to himself.

Later, he was reading and listening to the radio when he heard a knock on the door. He got up, grabbed his gun from where he’d left it on the table, and walked to the door. When he got there, he inhaled. It was Stiles.

“Hey,” Stiles said when Derek opened the door. “Expecting someone else?” He pointed to the gun still in Derek’s hand.

“Can’t be too careful,” Derek said, glancing around the hallway as he ushered Stiles inside. “You shouldn’t have come. It was too dangerous.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I wanted to see how you were doing. Isaac told me about Allison and Erica.”

“I found out Gerard orchestrated everything,” Derek said as he led Stiles into the kitchen. “Have you eaten?” Stiles hesitated, and Derek pointed to the chair. “I’m cooking you dinner.” He pulled ingredients from the cabinets. “Allison and Erica were targeted.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re part of my Pack, and have ties to Chris. This was as much a warning to me as to Chris.”

“Fuck,” Stiles said. 

As Derek started browning meat in the pan, he said, “Why didn’t you tell me you’ve been living in the theater?”

Derek felt a slight uptick in Stiles’ heartbeat. “Um, well, see, about that…you weren’t supposed to find out.” Derek turned his body so he could look at Stiles fully. Stiles was worrying his lip between his teeth, his cheeks flushed red. “I can pay you for it, like rent or something.”

“Do you really think that’s what I’m worried about?” Derek huffed in exasperation as he threw some vegetables in with the meat. 

“Well, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m worried because you had nowhere to go so you’ve been sleeping on an uncomfortable piece of furniture that’s too small for you. I’m upset because you’ve been lying to me about living with your dad, that every time I thought you were sleeping in your apartment, you were really in the theater.” Derek turned the eye down to simmer and then leaned against the cabinet with his arms crossed. “Stiles, why did you lie?”

Stiles shrugged. “Maybe I was embarrassed that I had nowhere to go, that my dad kicked me out, that I was homeless.”

Derek crossed the room to sit in the chair next to Stiles. “You could have come to me.”

Stiles glared. “When? After you fired me and hired me back? After the back and forth with us? After you almost got yourself killed?” He leaned forward, his arms flailing around. “It’s not your responsibility to take care of me.”

“That’s what we do,” Derek said. “We’re supposed to take care of each other.”

“Not like this, we’re not,” Stiles said with a shake of his head. “I wasn’t going to come crawling to you for money or a place to live. I had to figure it out on my own.”

“How long have you been living there?”

Stiles shrugged. “It happened sometime between me starting to work for you and us getting together.”

“Fuck, Stiles. Why didn’t you move in with Scott?”

“Because Scott is so far up Isaac’s ass I barely see him anymore,” Stiles said. “I didn’t want them both to know.”

“What happened with your dad?”

Stiles picked up the salt shaker from the table absently as Derek went to go check on the food. “He kicked me out. Found out I wasn’t working at the docks, got pissed when I wouldn’t tell him what I was doing.” Derek could feel the grief and guilt radiating from Stiles as he stirred the food. He went back over to Stiles and sat down on Stiles’ lap, his arms circled around his neck. 

“You should have talked to me about it,” Derek said quietly, his fingers playing with the short strands of hair at the base of Stiles’ neck. “I could have helped you. Or at least, you wouldn’t have had to shoulder this alone.”

Stiles sighed, his eyes damp as he pressed his face against Derek’s chest. He wrapped his arms around Derek’s middle and held on tightly. The strength of Stiles’ emotions overwhelmed Derek, making him want to erase everything sad from Stiles’ life. But all Derek could do is hold him tighter. “I miss my dad,” Stiles whispered after awhile. “I hate not talking to him. But I don’t know how to fix it.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Derek said, chin resting on the top of Stiles’ head. “You’re not alone.”

“We’re not very good at this couple stuff,” Stiles said. “I’m starting to understand that.”

“I don’t think anyone is good at it,” Derek said as he scratched his nails across Stiles’ back. “I just think we admit it instead of pretending we’re fine like everyone else.”

Stiles talked a bit about his dad and about Scott while he ate, Derek noticing how he nearly inhaled the entire pan of food. He didn’t say anything, but he decided talk to Stiles’ about his eating habits later. After Derek washed up the dinner dishes, he walked with Stiles into the bedroom.

Stiles immediately launched himself at Derek and started kissing him, hungry, frantic kisses undercut by the bundle of emotions Derek felt wafting from Stiles. It made Derek dizzy. “Stay with me tonight,” Derek said as they undressed each other. “Stay with me until you figure out where to live.”

“I’m not moving in with you,” Stiles said as he slid Derek’s shirt off his shoulders. “I don’t think we’re ready for that.”

“I know,” Derek said, kissing the underside of Stiles’ jaw as he unbuckled his trousers. “But I can’t get the image of you on that chaise lounge out of my head.” He pulled back and took Stiles’ face between his hands. “You don’t understand how deep my feelings are for you. The thought of you being alone, of hurting, of having nowhere to go….”

“Okay,” Stiles said, his hands still working over Derek’s belt. “I’ll stay with you until I find somewhere to live.” He slid his hands inside Derek’s underwear, cupping his soft cock and balls. “Not like I haven’t been spending most of my nights with you anyway.”

Derek growled quietly, a pleasant rumble in his chest as Stiles pushed his pants down his thighs. His wolf grumbled contently at the thought of Stiles being with him, under his protection, nearby so he could take care of him. Derek wanted to tell Stiles he was in love with him, but the last few days had been so difficult, and Derek knew he didn’t deserve to tell Stiles that. Stiles deserved to hear it when they weren’t on slightly uneven territory, trying to iron out the kinks in their relationship and figure out how to be together.

Derek knew he was a mess, but he was trying. He wanted to be everything for Stiles. Because Stiles was his everything.

When they finally stepped out of their clothes, Derek pulled Stiles against him, chest to back, Derek’s cock nestled between Stiles’ cheeks. “Mine,” Derek said against the back of Stiles’ neck, his fangs extending from the mixture of irritation and arousal and pleasure emanating from Stiles. 

“Possessive,” Stiles said, grabbing Derek’s wrist and guiding it down to his half-hard cock. He gasped when Derek touched him, claws dragging carefully over his sac and shaft. “And dangerous,” Stiles gulped as Derek scratched the claw on his thumb against the head of his cock. “Why am I with a werewolf? I must be crazy.”

Derek wrapped a hand around Stiles’ neck with his other hand, tilting Stiles’ chin back to expose the long line of his throat. Derek spread his fingers along the column of his neck, claws pressing against the pale, fragile skin. He pressed his face into the crook of Stiles’ shoulder, Stiles’ ragged breaths loud in the quiet room. “You love it,” Derek murmured against his skin before dragging his fang against the artery. Stiles shivered, and Derek licked the pulse point, feeling his pounding heart beneath his tongue. 

“No, I love you,” Stiles said. Derek froze, his eyes flicking up as he stared at the far wall, his ear trained on Stiles’ erratic pulse. “I-I, shit, I mean, I,” Stiles stammered.

Derek’s fangs and claws retracted, and he pulled Stiles closer to him, loosening his hold on Stiles’ neck but not removing it. He looked over, his stubble dragging across Stiles’ skin. “Say it again.”

Stiles turned his head, his eyes boring into Derek’s soul. “I love you, Derek.”

Derek crushed their mouths together, taking and claiming everything Stiles would give him. Derek made small sounds into Stiles’ mouth as Stiles’ ass rubbed against his cock. Derek walked Stiles towards the bed, then lifted him slightly and tossed him onto it. Stiles glanced back at Derek with a grin as Derek draped himself over Stiles’ body. 

“I love you so much,” Derek said as he grabbed Stiles’ chin and angled it so their mouths could slot together again. Stiles’ tongue tasted sweet and perfect in his mouth, like something Derek had been searching for forever and finally found. Now, he kissed Stiles like a starving man who was afraid he’d never find it again.

He started rutting against Stiles, Stiles pushing his hips back to meet his thrusts. Derek reluctantly broke the kiss long enough to reach over into the bedside table and grab the jar of lubricant. Stiles eyed it with hesitation, and Derek kissed his swollen lips again. “Don’t worry,” he said, dragging his nose against Stiles’ affectionately, “I know you’re still not ready.” Stiles’ smile was radiant, and took Derek’s breath away.

Derek slicked his cock, and then positioned himself at the base of Stiles’ ass before pushing the cheeks together and slipping into the crack. Stiles moaned loudly as Derek focused on the damp heat around him, the feel of Stiles’ skin against the head and sides of his shaft. He pulled back and set up a rhythm of short thrusts, his eyes fluttering shut at the close friction of Stiles’ cheeks pressing against him. 

He gripped Stiles’ ass tightly, his hips rocking quickly as he watched in fascination as his cock slid between the dark crack. When he shifted his angle slightly, the head of his cock dragged against Stiles’ hole, causing Stiles to keen softly. “Derek,” Stiles moaned. Derek saw Stiles’ hand disappear between his legs, could feel the irregular rhythm of the tugs on his cock.

“Don’t come,” Derek said, “I want to take care of you.” With a soft whining sound, Stiles placed his hand back on the bed, his fingers curling and uncurling. Derek watched the way Stiles’ back arched, the way his muscles tensed every time he rubbed against his hole, so he did it over and over until Stiles was mumbling incoherent sentences.

Derek felt himself getting close, so he squeezed Stiles’ ass tighter around his cock, adding more friction. He slowed down slightly, his thumb dragging along the shaft and head as he slowly pushed his cock along the cleft of Stiles’ ass, his cock almost disappearing from view as he pulled out and then slid back into Stiles’ damp heat. He purposefully nudged Stiles’ opening, teasing and causing Stiles to moan, before he pushed a few quick thrusts and came with a choked sound along the top of Stiles’ crack and lower back. 

After he came down, Derek grabbed one of their shirts from the floor and wiped the mess from Stiles’ back. Then, he rolled Stiles over and kissed him deeply before kissing along his chin and neck. He bit, kissed, and licked his way across Stiles’ chest, pausing at both nipples to suck on the tiny buds until Stiles was gripping his hair and writhing beneath him. Then, Derek dragged his tongue all the way down his torso until he was nuzzling the dark hairs at the base of Stiles’ cock.

“Oh god,” Stiles moaned, hands overhead and gripping the headboard. “Please put your mouth on me.” Derek could only comply. He slid his mouth over the head of Stiles’ cock, the tastes and scents like an explosion on his senses. Derek had to pull off for a second. Stiles raised his head, his eyes heavy lidded. “What? Why are you stopping? You can’t stop. Ever.”

Derek drew his lip back and bared his teeth. “Sorry,” he said. Stiles pushed himself up on his elbows and reached a hand out to cup Derek’s face. 

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Stiles said. “You’re beautiful; I love your fangs. Just not on my cock.” Derek grinned before holding Stiles down and carefully brushing his fang against Stiles’ cock. Stiles didn’t move, didn’t breathe, as Derek licked a striped along the underside of his cock as his fangs receded. “Fuck, that was so hot.” Derek kissed the crown of his cock before sliding his lips back over it. 

Derek felt drunk on the taste of Stiles on his tongue. He listened to the moans and filthy sounds Stiles made as he sucked along his shaft, swallowing down as much as he could. After a few moments, he slid his finger along the sensitive skin behind Stiles’ balls, then brushed the tip of his finger over his opening. 

“Fuck, Derek, please. I want to feel you inside me.” Surprised, Derek gently pushed past the ring of muscle, Stiles clenching around him tightly, and it only took a few strokes of his finger and a swirl of his tongue for Stiles to cry out as he came, Derek swallowing and lapping at every last bit of come. 

Stiles was flat on the bed, panting with his eyes closed. Derek stretched out on top of him and kissed him. His hands were everywhere, touching every bit of Stiles he could, not seeming to get enough. He still couldn’t believe that Stiles had said he loved him. It was something he knew he didn’t deserve.

Derek rested his chin on Stiles’ chest, and Stiles cracked one eye open and looked down at him. He smiled, and Derek’s heart felt like it was going to explode. Stiles threaded his fingers into Derek’s sweaty hair, and Derek closed his eyes with a content smile. As Stiles scratched along his scalp, Derek asked, “Did you mean what you said?”

“That I loved you?” Stiles asked. Derek opened his eyes and nodded. Stiles pushed himself up until he was sitting up against the headboard. “Yes. Why would I lie?”

“I didn’t expect it,” Derek said from where his cheek was resting on Stiles’ hip. 

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what Cora asked me, and there are a lot of reasons why I shouldn’t be with you, and we have a lot to figure out. But every time I asked myself, ‘Why are you with Derek?’, the answer was always because I love you.” Stiles grinned, almost shyly. “I didn’t expect you to say it back.”

“I don’t create special drinks for just anyone.” Derek smiled at the look of surprise on Stiles’ face.

“That long?”

“That long.” Derek turned his head and kissed Stiles’ belly lightly. 

*

Derek woke up to Stiles lying in his arms, and he felt happy. Until he thought of the raid, Erica, Gerard…he groaned and hauled himself out of the security and happiness of Stiles’ arms.

Stiles and Derek washed up and dressed, then grabbed breakfast at a diner before going to the theater. The padlock on the front door was gone, so they walked inside and downstairs. As soon as they opened the door to the Sour Wolf, Derek was hit with the smell of death.

When he looked down, his knees gave out. “Derek! Derek!” he heard from miles away. Various parts of three wolves, Omegas from his territory, were strewn from the door to the dance floor. And right in the middle of the dance floor was Erica.

Stiles ran past Derek as he stared at the top half of the closest Omega, wolfed out, dead gold eyes staring at him. It reminded him of Laura, of finding her body with her eyes open, how she had turned into her wolf form the longer she was dead.

“Derek!” Stiles was shouting, but he barely heard it. In the Omega’s hand was a bloody handkerchief, and when Derek picked it up, fangs and claws spilled out onto the floor. 

Derek felt like he was going to pass out. 

Two more Omega bodies paved the way to Erica, and Derek couldn’t…he just couldn’t. Not someone else, not another member of his Pack, another sister.

“Derek!” Stiles grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. “Derek! Look at me, goddammit!” Derek looked up at Stiles with bleary eyes, his face unfocused. “She’s not dead. Derek, did you hear me? Erica’s not dead.”

Derek was over at her side in a flash. She was unconscious, her heartbeat faint, black oozing out of various wounds. Derek lifted her lip, checked her hands. No visible signs of damage; he breathed a sigh of relief.

As he looked over her body, he found a piece of paper shoved into the pocket in her shirt. He grabbed it, opened it, and read.

_Alpha Hale –_

_Next time, we’ll make you watch as we skin her alive._

_We want you and Peter Hale. Deliver yourselves to us in the next seventy-two hours, or we will kill every member of your Pack, leaving the sheriff’s son for last._

Derek jerked when he felt a hand land on his shoulder. Stiles squeezed his shoulder gently, and left his hand there. 

“Call Deaton,” Derek said. “Tell him to get here quickly.”

*

While Deaton tended to Erica, Derek gathered the separate parts of the Omegas, wrapped them in sheets, and loaded them into the back of a truck.

“I’m coming with you,” Stiles said. 

Derek flashed red eyes at him. “No, you’re not.”

“Derek, you can’t – “

“Stiles, this is not negotiable.” Derek got into the truck and slammed the door in Stiles’ face. He drove away before Stiles could utter a protest.

The entire drive to upstate New York, he thought about Erica’s weakened and broken body, the wounds she’d had on her. He didn’t want to think about the wounds she would carry inside her for the rest of her life. He thought about Laura, the time he had to bury her body alone in the woods. Thought of Peter who did the same for his mother.

So much death, so much thoughtless violence for nothing. No matter what Derek did, he couldn’t stop it. If they killed Gerard, there would be other hunters, other people trying to kill him and his Pack.

As Derek was digging the first grave, he looked up sharply at the sound of tires crunching on the dirt road. Cora, Boyd, and Isaac got out of the first car, while Stiles, Scott, Allison, and Lydia got out of the second.

“What in the hell are you doing here?” Derek growled, his eyes flashing red. 

Stiles strode forward, mouth turned down in an angry scowl. “You don’t have to do this alone, Derek,” he said. “You’re not alone.” Boyd came up and took the shovel from Derek’s hands, Isaac and Scott following him with shovels of their own. Cora wrapped her arms around Derek, and he just held her, inhaling her scent.

“Erica?” he asked over Cora’s head after a few moments.

“With my dad,” Allison said. “She’s going to be okay.”

After they packed the dirt on the three Omegas, Stiles and Cora stood on either side of Derek and took his hands. The rest of his Pack fanned around him as they stared at the graves.

“What now?” Lydia asked.

“They want us dead,” Derek said. “I can’t keep you safe. We should run.”

“No,” Isaac said. 

“We fight,” Boyd said.

Derek looked over at Stiles, who nodded his head and squeezed his hand. “Fine,” Derek said, looking at the Omega’s graves, then over to Laura’s grave, the earth still fresh and loose. “We fight.”


	8. Chapter 8

Stiles watched outside the window, the scenery of upstate New York rolling past as Derek drove. They hadn’t spoken since they’d left the graveyard. Stiles could tell that Derek was mad, and Stiles had decided to wait for him to speak first. He was tired of doing everything; Derek could make the first move now, even if it was to yell at him.

After half an hour, Derek said, “I told you not to come.”

“I ignored that.”

“Did you ever think that maybe I didn’t want you there with me?”

The words cut Stiles, and he tried to remember that Derek was hurting. He was lashing out.

“You needed us, all of us. You needed a reminder that you weren’t alone.”

“I didn’t, _don’t_ need anything. Or anybody,” Derek added under his breath.

Stiles bit his lip so hard that he tasted blood. He wasn’t going to say anything, he wasn’t going to cry. 

But he also wasn’t going to force Derek to understand anything. It’s not like Stiles hadn’t been through hell the last few months. And as much as he loved Derek, Stiles had limits.

The longer that Derek remained silent, the more Stiles realized that he had reached his.

*

The moment Derek put the car in park, Stiles jumped out and stormed down the sidewalk. 

“Where are you going?” Derek shouted after him.

Stiles didn’t respond. He was furious, and had never felt so hurt in his life. He heard the footsteps on the sidewalk behind him, but he just lifted his chin and kept walking. Until a hand circled his arm and forced him to stop.

“Stiles,” Derek said. “What are you doing?”

Stiles wrenched his arm from Derek’s grasp and glared. “Does it matter? I thought you didn’t _need_ anyone.” He spun around and kept walking down the sidewalk.

Derek didn’t follow.

*

Allison looked surprised when she opened the door and saw Stiles on the other side. “Who is it, Allison?” Lydia asked, appearing in the hallway. She was only wearing a thin dressing gown, and he then noticed Allison was also only wearing a cotton robe. Suddenly Stiles felt out of place. 

It was that moment he truly realized he had nowhere to go.

“I’m sorry,” he quickly said, averting his eyes from Lydia’s very perky and prominent nipples poking through the thin robe. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

He turned to go, but Allison stepped onto the stoop to grab his arm. “Wait,” she said. “You didn’t interrupt anything.”

“Stiles, what’s wrong?” Lydia asked, coming to stand beside Allison. “We thought you were with Derek.”

“We, um,” Stiles rubbed a hand over his face. “You know, never mind. Have a good night.”

“Stiles Stilinski!” Lydia said, voice hard as she crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “Whatever it is made you walk all the way from Brooklyn Heights to Flatbush, so get in here.” Both girls grabbed one of his arms and pulled him inside the brownstone, Allison kicking the door shut behind her. She let go long enough to lock the door, and Lydia led Stiles into the sitting room. “Now,” she said, tugging him onto the sofa beside her, “Talk.”

Stiles tried really hard not to look at her chest, but it was really difficult not to get distracted, with the robe parted and her cleavage peeking out from between the silk edges. “Um,” he said as he shifted uncomfortably, “Those are really distracting.” He waved his hand in the direction of her chest as Allison sat on the other side of him.

Lydia huffed. “Horsefeathers, Stiles! They’re just breasts.” She yanked open the front of her robe. Stiles’ mouth dropped open as he stared, and Allison giggled behind him.

“Lydia, stop torturing him.”

“Now, you’ve seen them,” Lydia said, Stiles unable to pull his eyes from her creamy skin and pink nipples. She reclosed the gown and grabbed a cushion from the sofa to hold over her chest. “Men. They’re simply ridiculous.”

“Um,” Stiles stammered, looking at Lydia and then back at Allison, his cheeks burning. “I don’t, I mean, it’s not, it’s not like that.”

“I’m aware of that,” Lydia said. “I know you prefer men to women, but you also like women and find them sexually attractive. Obviously, you like breasts, though you prefer a penis.” She shrugged. “I’ve had sex with men, and rather enjoyed it. However, I prefer women. Allison has no interest in men at all. Now that you’ve seen my breasts, hopefully we can move on from this mundane point, unless you’d like to see Allison’s, too.”

“This is not an appropriate conversation,” Stiles said, rubbing his eyes. 

“Stiles, it’s 1924. Stop being such a stuffed shirt.”

Allison placed a hand on Stiles’ arm. “Ignore Lydia,” she whispered, her voice teasing. “I do.” Lydia just huffed. “What’s wrong, Stiles?”

“Huh?” Stiles glanced at both of them, uncomprehending, until everything came flooding back. For just a moment, he had been distracted enough to forget. “Oh, nothing. Just…can I sleep here tonight?”

“Of course,” Allison replied. “But why?”

“I have nowhere else to go,” Stiles said quietly.

“Did you and Derek break up?” Lydia asked sharply. “Do I have to go smack him?”

“Stiles, why can’t you go home?” Allison asked softly. He knew they were just trying to help, but they were surrounding him, all questions and concern and Stiles felt pulled so tight he might just snap.

“I don’t have a home!” he exclaimed as he jumped from the sofa and started pacing. “I don’t…have anything anymore.” 

Allison and Lydia got off the couch and stood around him, encircling him in their arms. They held him tight, their bodies warm and smelling of flowers. Lydia rested her head between his shoulder blades while Allison cradled his head against her shoulder. It wasn’t home, but it felt nice just the same.

*

Stiles awoke suddenly. After Allison had cooked him something to eat, she and Lydia forced him to bed in their spare room. He had fallen directly asleep. But currently, he heard Allison’s hushed voice and a different, male voice. He got out of bed, grabbing his trousers and pulling them on as he opened the bedroom door.

“He’s asleep,” Allison whispered. “He looked like hell.”

“Allison, I need to see him.” Stiles was surprised to hear Derek’s voice. He hated the way his heart leapt at just the sound of his voice, the thought that he was so near, the knowledge that Derek had come for him after all. He inched quietly onto the landing and near the top of the stairs, trying to listen without being detected.

“I don’t think he wants to see you,” Allison responded. “I don’t know what you did, but – “

“I need to see him _now_ ,” Derek growled.

“Don’t Alpha eyes me, Derek, not in my own home.”

“Allison, please.” Derek’s voice had lost all its bite, and now he just sounded tired and wrecked. “I’ve been going crazy, not knowing where he was,” Derek explained, and Stiles took a step closer, causing Derek to stop talking. “Stiles?”

Stiles paused when he was halfway down the stairs. Derek looked like he hadn’t slept, changed clothes, or showered. He was still covered in dirt, his hair lying flat on his head, his jacket soiled. He looked awful.

“How did you find me?” Stiles asked.

“I tracked your scent.”

“Of course you did.” Slowly, Stiles made his way down the remaining stairs, Derek staying rooted on his spot. 

Lydia came walking out of Allison’s downstairs bedroom, rubbing her eyes. “What are you doing here?” she asked, storming over to Derek. She hit his chest with her fists. “What did you do to Stiles?”

Derek looked at her like she was crazy. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Then why did he come round all upset, asking if he could sleep here? He _should_ be sleeping in your bed.” She put her hands on her hips and stuck her chin out as she glared up at him. Stiles bit back the inappropriate laugh bubbling in his chest; the image of tiny Lydia staring down a large Alpha werewolf was ludicrous.

“It’s okay, Lydia,” Stiles said when he finally stepped onto the bottom floor. When he passed her on his way to Derek, he kissed the top of her head. 

“Come on, Lyds,” Allison said, grabbing her arm and pulling her back towards the bedroom. “Let’s give them some privacy.”

“For the record,” Lydia called over her shoulder, “I think you should make him suffer, Stiles.”

Stiles chuckled quietly as he watched them disappear, Allison throwing an apologetic look over her shoulder. Finally, he turned to Derek, the smile slipping from his face. “What do you want?”

“Stiles,” Derek said as he took a step towards him. Stiles took a step back. Derek sighed. “So, is that it, then? You’re just going to push me away?”

“Me push _you_ \- how can you even – I don’t – “ Stiles broke off, seething and trying to figure out what to say. His balled his fists at his sides. “You know Derek, fuck you. Fuck you to hell and back.”

“Stiles,” Derek said. “Please, if we’re going to do this, let’s do it at my place. In private.” Derek nodded towards the door, where apparently he could detect something Stiles could not. Allison and Lydia listening in; it didn’t surprise him.

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Fine. Let me go get my things.” Stiles started up the stairs, and Derek made to follow, but Stiles glared over his shoulder. “I think I can grab my shoes and jacket without your help.”

The moment he saw the look of hurt and open vulnerability on Derek’s face, Stiles regretted his harsh words. But he turned back around and jogged the rest of the way up the stairs. 

*

Stiles stood awkwardly in the middle of Derek’s apartment. They hadn’t spoken during the ride there, and now Stiles waited while Derek hung his coat and hat on the coat rack by the door. Finally, Derek turned to Stiles. For a few long moments, they just stared at each other across the space of the living room.

“I need you, Stiles,” Derek finally said, breaking the silence. “I will always need you.”

“Excuse me if I don’t automatically run into your arms,” Stiles replied. 

Derek crossed the room in a few, swift steps, and then wrapped his hands around Stiles’ arms. He pressed his face against Stiles’ hair and just inhaled. For a moment, Stiles closed his eyes and leaned into the touch.

“So you’re here right now, but when will you push me away yet again?” Stiles asked, pulling away. “Derek, I can’t do this anymore.”

Derek looked at Stiles, resigned. He appeared to be choosing his words very carefully. “I never hid the fact that I was broken, Stiles,” he started. “I am so fucked up that I will probably never be right. You deserve to be with someone who can love you the way you deserve to be loved. And I deserve…” 

He trailed off, and Stiles waited. “You deserve what, Derek?”

“I deserve nothing. It doesn’t matter, anyway. I probably won’t even be alive very much longer.”

“Don’t you even fucking _think_ that!” Stiles yelled. He rushed Derek, pushing him. Derek was so surprised that he stumbled backwards. “You are the most selfish bastard in the world!” Stiles pushed Derek again, his anger cresting over him. He reared back to punch Derek, but Derek stopped his fist before it connected with his face, and held it gently. “You are so fucking stupid,” Stiles choked out. “You’re not the only person who has lost people!”

Derek circled his fingers loosely around Stiles’ wrist and lowered his arm, but remained silent.

“Every fucking member of your Pack has felt loss and tragedy, Derek. You are so wrapped up in your own fucking head that you can’t see your Pack for what they are. Isaac and Erica were nothing but cheap whores and pickpockets before you took them in, and Boyd was starving and homeless. None of them had families. Chris and Allison lost Allison’s mom, Lydia’s family is horrible, Scott’s dad died, and my mom died.” Stiles shook his head. “And Cora, Cora has lost more than even _you_ , Derek, because you still have her, but she believes she’s lost you.”

Derek hung his head, and Stiles was unable to keep himself from sliding his fingers into it. Derek’s grip around his wrist tightened, and Stiles didn’t move away when Derek wrapped his other arm around Stiles’ waist.

“It hurts so much, Stiles,” he whispered. Stiles scratched his nails along Derek’s scalp, and Derek leaned his weight into Stiles. “I can’t…I don’t know what to do anymore. Everything I touch gets destroyed.” He raised his head and looked into Stiles’ eyes, and there was so much pain and grief in those beautiful eyes of his. Stiles wondered if he was strong enough to deal with this, strong enough to be what Derek needed – especially since he didn’t even know what that was. “I’m so sorry for everything.”

Stiles shook his head. “You haven’t done anything to me.”

“You were better off before you met me. I’ve almost gotten you killed twice.” Derek dropped his voice, “I will never forgive myself if you die. I can’t…I can’t lose you, Stiles. Not that way.”

“Hey,” Stiles said, sliding his arms around Derek’s neck, his fingers still in Derek’s hair. “I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere. Stilinskis don’t die easily. And if I can survive what I have already, nothing can get me.”

“I’m so sorry.” Derek buried his face in Stiles’ neck. “I didn’t mean what I said.”

Stiles rubbed Derek’s back as he held him. He wished he could say _I know_ , wished he knew. He knew Derek loved him, but he wasn’t sure of anything else. Love didn’t mean staying, love didn’t mean being what you needed.

But the longer Stiles held Derek, the more he thought that maybe Derek didn’t realize that love sometimes _did_ mean staying. Maybe he didn’t realize exactly how Stiles felt, that Stiles wouldn’t leave him. 

Stiles knew in that moment that he had to make a choice. He had to decide if Derek was worth fighting for, if Derek was worth dealing with in the midst of everything else. His life had fallen apart spectacularly the last few months, honestly since he met Derek, but he’d never felt so alive, never thought he could fall as in love as he was with Derek. He knew Derek was broken, and had done so many terrible things. But the man trembling in his arms wasn’t a killer, or a bad person. He was a scared boy who had to grow up too fast, who had terrible things happen to him over and over again until he was nothing but scar tissue and pain.

Maybe this was love, Stiles thought. Maybe love was staying when all the signs pointed to leaving.

“Hey,” Stiles finally said. His voice was hoarse, but he had made his decision. “Look at me, Derek.” Derek raised his head and looked Stiles in the eyes. Stiles could see the cracks in his armor, the emptiness and weak spots. He dragged his thumb across Derek’s cheekbone, and then pressed his hand against Derek’s heart. “Derek, I don’t know a lot. But I know that without a doubt, I love you. I know that Cora adores you more than anyone else in this world, and that your Pack loves you, especially your Betas.” Stiles patted his chest lightly. “You are not alone. And I won’t leave you. If I have my choice, I will be by your side forever.”

Derek shook his head, his fingers flexing against the small of Stiles’ back. “No, you deserve more.”

“I deserve you,” Stiles said, “and you deserve to be happy.”

Derek crushed their mouths together, and Stiles kissed him desperately. The emotions coursing through him left him open and raw, and he needed this; he needed Derek. 

Derek lifted him, and Stiles wrapped his legs around Derek’s waist as Derek carried him into the bedroom. Gently, he laid Stiles back on the bed, his hands immediately going underneath Stiles’ shirt to slide against his skin. Stiles sighed as Derek nuzzled his face against the skin of his chest. “I thought you were gone, too,” Derek murmured against Stiles’ skin. “I was going out of my mind with worry that I’d lost you, too.” He placed his hands flat against Stiles’ torso, rubbed his cheek against the skin until Stiles’ body was tingling. “I sometimes can’t believe you’re real.”

Stiles threaded his fingers into Derek’s hair, and Derek pushed up into the contact. “I’m real, Derek. No one’s going to leave you.” 

Derek turned his face and kissed the inside of Stiles’ palm, then went back to kissing and nuzzling his chest and belly. Derek’s hands seemed to be everywhere at once, touching every part of Stiles in case he missed something, and his lips mapped the constellation of moles along his torso. Stiles kept his hands on Derek’s face and hair, constant points of contact that Stiles wasn’t sure was supposed to be grounding Derek or himself. 

Soon, Stiles’ shirt and undershirt were discarded so Derek could touch and taste every available inch of skin. Derek licked around Stiles’ bellybutton, and then dragged his teeth along the dip of Stiles’ hip, and Stiles felt like his entire body was falling apart underneath Derek’s mouth. He hated the idea of a life where Derek wasn’t his, where Derek’s comforting fingers weren’t there to trail against his skin.

When Derek reached for the fly of Stiles’ pants, Stiles stilled his hand. “Hey,” Stiles said. Derek glanced up at him with heavy lidded eyes, tinted red at the edges. “I need to say a few things before we do anything else.” 

Derek pulled away, taken aback. “I thought we were okay.”

“We are,” Stiles said, sitting up as he adjusted the very obvious tent in his trousers. “But I need to say a few things.” He took a deep breath, reached a reassuring hand out to Derek’s arm. Derek immediately relaxed at the simple touch. “I am with you, Derek. I want to be by your side through everything. The good, the bad, the loss – everything. But,” Stiles paused, shaking his head. “I feel like I’m fraying at the seams. I feel like my whole life is falling apart – and no, not because of you. I have no home, nowhere to go, and fuck Derek, I miss my dad.” 

Derek curled his fingers around Stiles’ neck. “I almost died, Derek. I watched you almost get cut in half,” Stiles continued. “You’re not the only one going through these things. I need more from you. We’re partners, me and you. That doesn’t mean that you get to push me away while I keep being there for you. You have to give some back.”

“Stiles,” Derek said, his voice broken. 

“Don’t say you’re sorry,” Stiles said. “Just…don’t ever tell me you don’t need anyone ever again, or push me away. Because Derek, the next time I won’t come back.” 

Derek searched Stiles’ face for a few moments, and then nodded. “Okay.” He grabbed Stiles and tugged him into his lap. “I’m not good with this,” he said, reaching up and cupping Stiles’ face. “But Stiles, I have never loved anyone as much as I love you. I just…I don’t know what else to say.”

Stiles circled his arms around Derek’s neck and kissed Derek gently. “No more words,” Stiles whispered against his lips. “You need rest, and so do I.” Slowly, Stiles undressed Derek, and Derek wordlessly complied. Stiles watched with a worried brow at the mindless way Derek just let Stiles move him, like he was made of putty, at the vacant, haunted look in Derek’s eyes. He wondered if Derek had had any time to process the raid, the death of the Omegas, Erica, and everything else. 

For a brief moment, Stiles wondered how any of them were all still stitched together.

Stiles lay on his side, pulling Derek down until he was laying half on top of him. Stiles cradled Derek’s head, and whispered sweet nothings until Derek stopped shaking and fell into a fitful sleep.

*

Derek woke, encompassed by happiness. Two strong arms were wrapped around him, and he was curled into a solid, warm body. And all around him was the scent of Stiles, warm and bright, like sunshine and summertime. 

Derek smiled, his senses dulled until there was nothing in the entire universe except him and Stiles. 

But that sweet respite didn’t last long. Soon the dull pain returned, the loss of the Omegas, Erica’s trauma. He couldn’t get the image of the bloody claws and fangs out of his mind, lifted his own hand and stared at his extended claws. He couldn’t imagine what kind of person could do that to another innocent creature. He only hoped they were dead when it happened, that they had been shown that small bit of mercy. 

And they called _him_ a monster.

Gerard wanted him and Peter. Derek knew there was no getting out of it, no way to avoid the upcoming confrontation. If he was lucky, the hunters would leave the rest of his Pack alone. If he was very lucky, the hunters would kill them quick and not torture them, and Derek wouldn’t have to feel the pain of having his claws and fangs ripped from his body. 

Derek pulled back slightly, looked down at Stiles sleeping in front of him. He thought of the threat, that they would leave the sheriff’s son for last. So, they knew about him and Stiles, and that had put a large target right on Stiles’ back. They would kill him just to get to Derek. To hurt him.

Asleep, Stiles looked so much younger. Sometimes Derek forgot how young Stiles was, just how innocent and naïve he still was despite what’s happened the last few months. For an excruciating moment the night before, Derek had really thought that Stiles was going to leave him. A tiny part of him wished he had, the part of him that wanted Stiles to get out of all of this and out of danger. But the rest of him couldn’t even comprehend Stiles not being with him, his wolf howling and whining just at the thought.

The only other times Derek had felt the way he had the previous night was when his mother and Laura died. So low that the thought of drawing another breath was unfathomable. But last night, he’d had Stiles there, grounding him, reprimanding him, and even in his pain, making Derek see things as they were, not how he saw them in his own fucked up mind. Because in Derek’s head, he was alone. But listening to Stiles talk about the Pack, waking up with Stiles still beside him, Derek was beginning to believe him. 

Erica was still safe, Stiles was still by his side, and his Pack still intact for now. Things could be so much worse, and as Derek looked into Stiles’ beautiful face, with the sunlight from the windows glowing against his pale skin, Derek thought maybe there was some hope after all.

“You’re staring.” Stiles’ sleepy voice dragged Derek from his thoughts. Stiles blinked, eyes soft with sleep and leftover exhaustion. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it was impolite to stare?” Stiles smiled, and Derek felt his heart skip a beat. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Derek said quietly, dragging the backs of his fingers along Stiles’ cheek. A faint blush warmed Stiles’ skin, and Derek rubbed over it with his thumb, reveling in the heat beneath his touch and the pure _adoration_ pouring from Stiles. 

If it was the last thing he ever did, he was going to become the man Stiles thought he was. The man Stiles deserved. He was going to become worthy of Stiles’ affection.

“What?” Stiles drew his brow down in a frown. “You’ve got a very serious expression on your face. Which honestly, isn’t that different than your normal expression, but as a general rule, you usually don’t have them in the bedroom.”

The edge of Derek’s mouth upturned. “Just making a decision,” Derek replied. “And thinking about how much I love you.”

“I do think you’re a closet romantic, Derek Hale,” Stiles said. His smile was easy, so fitting on his face. He rolled onto his back and stretched, eliciting a high pitched screech as he did so. “I’m still exhausted.”

“Me, too.” Derek thought of everything they had to do before Gerard’s deadline, and groaned as he started to get out of bed. Stiles grabbed his arm to stop him and sat up. Derek watched as Stiles shed his underwear and then tugged Derek towards him. Stiles was half-hard, his cock pink where it lay against him. Derek inhaled, his nostrils filling with the musky scent of Stiles’ arousal. He leaned down and nuzzled his face against Stiles’ groin, licking a long stripe up Stiles’ shaft before tugging one testicle into his mouth with his tongue.

Stiles threw his head back against the headboard with a soft whine as Derek sucked, the ball round and plump in his mouth. After a few moments, Derek let it drop from his mouth wetly before pulling the other between his lips. Stiles watched him with his mouth parted, his breathing quick and shallow. Derek breathed in the heavy scent of Stiles, so concentrated there between his legs. He could stay there forever, breathing in Stiles’ musk-laden scent with the taste of him on his tongue.

“Up,” Stiles said breathlessly. “Shorts off, and come up here.” Derek quickly obeyed, giving Stiles’ cock one last, long lick before shedding his underwear and crawling between Stiles’ open legs. “Turn around and lay against me,” Stiles said. Derek wasn’t sure what Stiles was doing, and he didn’t care. He exhaled contently as he settled back against Stiles, and Stiles’ arms went around him automatically, his lips peppering kisses down the side of his face and neck.

Leisurely, Stiles trailed his fingertips along Derek’s chest and taut stomach. Thumbs brushed against his nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through him, and each touch of Stiles’ fingertips left a trail of sparks along his skin. The featherlight touches and heavy scent of Stiles dazed him as pleasure pooled low in his belly. His cock was swollen and aching to be touched, the tip dragging precome against his lower belly with each unconscious movement of his hips. He moved to grab it, but Stiles slapped his hand away.

“Please,” Derek begged, his voice like gravel. He just needed Stiles to touch him. Derek scratched his fingers through the dark hair on Stiles’ legs bracketing him, the touch of Stiles’ hot skin and coarse hair beneath his fingers not enough. He wanted to feel all of Stiles. 

“Relax,” Stiles exhaled, the warm breath ghosting across Derek’s ear sending shivers down his spine. “Just relax.”

Derek obeyed. He focused his senses on each point of contact between their bodies: Stiles’ lips against his cheek and neck, his chest snug against Derek’s back, Stiles’ hard leaking cock nestled in the small of his back, his legs beneath Derek’s hands. Stiles’ hands fluttered all over his body, but different than Stiles’ normal, nervous gestures. His hands were sure, tender, intimate. Derek heard each beat of Stiles’ heart as it pounded beneath him, heard each heavy breath. Before he knew it, he was sinking back against Stiles, as if he was boneless. He felt like he had melted into Stiles.

“You’re so sexy,” Stiles whispered into his ear. “I can’t believe you are mine to touch, to look at.” Derek turned his head and Stiles caught his mouth in a kiss. He was demanding with his tongue, licking into Derek’s mouth greedily. Derek was distracted by Stiles’ kiss, so he was surprised when Stiles finally wrapped his fingers around his cock.

“Fuck,” he moaned into Stiles’ mouth, emitting needy noises as Stiles swiped his thumb across the head at the same time he bit his bottom lip. Derek’s hips bucked slightly as he tried to get more pressure, more friction from Stiles’ hand.

“So beautiful,” Stiles murmured against his mouth as he stroked him, and Derek turned his head enough to watch as Stiles’ long fingers held his shaft and stroked it in long, tight movements. He barely even registered that Stiles was rutting against his back slightly, and the drag of Stiles’ cock against his skin shot straight to his cock.

“Fuck, Stiles.” Derek dropped his head back against Stiles’ shoulder, unable to do anything but clutch Stiles’ legs as he fucked his hips into Stiles’ hand. Every inch of his body was alive with desire, and he was slowly coming undone.

Stiles lightly thumbed one of his nipples, a counter touch that combined with the hand around his shaft that made him keen. “Come for me,” Stiles whispered before licking lightly behind his ear. “Let go of everything, Derek. I’ve got you.”

The words sent shivers down Derek’s spine, and when Stiles twisted his fist around the head of his cock on his next upstroke, he felt his orgasm in every part of his body, his legs and stomach tensing so hard as he fucked up into Stiles’ hand that he had a fading cramp as he flopped back onto the bed. He looked down at himself, his chest and belly covered in come, along with Stiles’ forearm. 

Stiles was still stroking him slowly, and Derek stilled his hand when it became too sensitive. Stiles splayed his come-covered fingers against Derek’s stomach, gripping him as he thrust against the small of his back. Derek looked over his shoulder, and Stiles kissed him, breathing heavily into his mouth. Derek loved the feeling of Stiles rubbing against him, smearing his precome into his skin, mixing it with Derek’s sweat, marking him with his scent.

Stiles emitted a choked shout into Derek’s mouth and covered Derek’s back with his come. Derek hummed contently as Stiles rode through his orgasm, his cock sliding easily through the wetness.

Afterwards, Stiles hooked an arm around Derek’s chest and held him closely. They were sticky and messy, but they just laid there for long, silent moments, Stiles pressed closely along his back.

“I would love to stay like this, just holding you forever,” Stiles mumbled behind him, “but the come is starting to itch and you should take a shower. You’ve still got dirt on your skin.”

Derek flipped over so he was face to face with Stiles. “Thank you,” he said, tracing the contours of Stiles’ face with his fingers. Stiles just smiled, causing Derek to fall even more stupid in love with him.

When Derek finally pulled himself away from kissing Stiles and got to his feet, Stiles grabbed his undershirt and came up behind Derek to wipe the drying come from his back. 

“You made a mess,” Derek joked over his shoulder. “You’re such a dirty boy.”

“You’re the dirty boy,” Stiles murmured against his neck, where he started sucking a mark. He reached around and wiped at Derek’s chest and stomach. “You’re the one covered in come.”

Derek spun around in Stiles’ arms, tugging him close and pressing their now-soft cocks together. With the teasing and touching, it wasn’t going to take long before Derek was ready to go again. His cock was already starting to stir.

“How would you like to change that?” Derek asked, raising his eyebrow as he dragged his thumb across Stiles’ bottom lip. “You’d look so beautiful with your face painted in my come.” Stiles opened his mouth and sucked Derek’s thumb into his mouth, and Derek’s eyes fluttered shut.

Derek was sucking on Stiles’ neck, their crotches rubbing together slowly when a knock on the door sounded. Derek inhaled, smelled a mixture of panic and fear and then _Pack._ In a flash, he darted into the living room, grabbing his trousers and an undershirt on the way. After quickly pulling on his clothes, he opened the door.

Allison was on the other side, crying. Derek’s eyes bled red as he gently led her inside. “What’s wrong?”

Stiles rushed into the room at that moment, sheet held around his waist. Allison looked between them, and gave Stiles a small smile before turning back to Derek.

“It’s my dad.” Derek braced himself for the worst, though Allison was more upset than scared. That was a good sign. “After he left Erica this morning, he disappeared, and then I got a telephone call from Ethan, who said Dad had been at his place, and he was completely zozzled, gambling and losing badly, and picking fights.” Allison wrung her hands, her gloves bunching. “I…” She glanced at Stiles, who had come to stand behind Derek, still only wearing a sheet. “I wouldn’t have disturbed you, but I don’t know where he is, and with everything that’s happened, I – “

“Ssh,” Derek said, pulling her into a quick, tight embrace. “I’ll find your father.”

“Thank you.” Allison pulled back, and Derek handed her a slightly soiled handkerchief from his trouser pocket. She thanked him and dabbed her eyes.

Derek was going to kill Chris. He was going to find him, then kill him for being so fucking _stupid_. He wasn’t sure what Gerard wanted to do with Chris, but since his only son and granddaughter were part of a werewolf Pack, Derek was sure Gerard wasn’t going to just let them go.

As soon as Allison left, Derek went into the bathroom and ran some water to quickly wash up. He was in desperate need of a shower and some food, but that would have to wait. When he walked back into the bedroom, Stiles was lacing up his shoes, his suit already on. Derek opened his mouth to tell him to stay, but he realized this was a moment when he needed Stiles and shouldn’t push him away.

So, Derek nodded as he grabbed his own suit.

Both men still looked like hell when they left the apartment, exhaustion apparent around their eyes and their suits wrinkled. But Derek had more pressing matters to attend to than appearances. If someone didn’t like his wrinkled suit, he’d just punch them.

“Where do you think Chris is?” Stiles asked when they were in the car. 

“I don’t know.” Derek rubbed his eyes as he tried to think about all of the places Chris could be. If he had been at Ethan and Aiden’s, then he probably didn’t wander far. There were plenty of speaks and cathouses in that area for Chris to get lost in for days.

Derek parked the car at the end of the street and inhaled, trying to detect any scent of Chris. He walked along the street, and when they got near a speak run out of the back of an Italian restaurant, he caught a whiff of something familiar. 

Derek led Stiles through the restaurant, nodding at the owner who he sold some liquor to sometimes. The speakeasy was ill-lit and dank, and smelled heavily of sweat and sour alcohol. Derek hated these kinds of joints, the ones that were grimy and crawling with bad news. 

“Stay close to me,” Derek said to Stiles in a low voice. The place was mostly empty, but Derek didn’t trust anyone. 

According to the bartender, Chris had been there the night before, but he had left a few hours ago. Back on the street, Derek tried to detect Chris’ scent under all the other smells of the city. Stiles asked, “Does Chris do this a lot?”

“What?” Derek responded distractedly as he bent down to sniff a set of steps.

“Disappear.”

Derek caught something in the air and followed it down an alleyway. “He used to, when I first met him. His wife had just died. Chris doesn’t cope with things well.”

“Seems to be a Pack trait,” Stiles retorted.

“I guess you could say we don’t all make the best decisions.”

“I think that’s putting it delicately.”

The moment Derek stepped into the third grungy speak, he was hit with a waft of Chris’ scent and the sound of his voice. Which was followed closely by the sound of something breaking.

When Derek entered the back room, he found Chris in the headlock of a very large man, a knife jabbed into his thigh. The remnants of a poker game lay strewn across the floor.

“Hey!” Derek yelled as he strode inside the room. “Break it up.”

“Mind your own fucking business, you fucking Mick.” 

“Whoa, that’s not nice. You don’t even know if he’s Irish,” Stiles said, holding his hands up as he approached the two men. He turned to Derek and asked, “Are you Irish? I’ve never asked.”

The guy holding Chris looked at Stiles like he was crazy. “What the fuck is this fucking piker talking about?” Before anyone had any chance to respond, two goons came in from the other room and grabbed Stiles.

Derek growled, trying to control his wolf which was clawing to attack. He curled his hands into fists, hiding his claws. “Let them go,” Derek said evenly, each word deliberate. The men just laughed.

Before anyone knew what happened, Derek had wrenched Stiles from the grips of the two men, who were now slumped against the wall on the floor. After a quick touch on Stiles’ arm to make sure he was okay, Derek spun around to face the man holding Chris.

“What the fuck are you, mister?” the guy asked, eyes wide with fright. 

“I suggest you don’t find out,” Derek said, his words warped by the fangs that had extended. The man quickly dropped Chris and ran out of the room without looking back. Stiles ran over to Chris’ side when he fell to the ground, and Chris yanked the knife from his leg.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Chris yelled. His words were slurred, and Derek could smell the alcohol all the way across the room.

“Saving your sorry ass.” Derek yanked Chris to his feet, Chris protesting at the pressure on his leg. “You’ll live,” Derek growled as he dragged Chris through the speakeasy, throwing a wad of cash down on the bar as he left.

*

Derek walked into Peter’s office around noon. He looked up from the ledger he was poring over, his eyes narrowing before his face broke into a wide grin. “Derek!” he exclaimed. “What a surprise! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Derek tossed the note left by the hunters in front of Peter as he sat down. Peter picked it up and read it, his expression blank. When he finished, he dropped the note and leaned back in the chair. 

“This is why I prefer to be an Omega,” Peter said. “Having a Pack makes you so vulnerable.” A low growl rumbled in Derek’s chest, and Peter rolled his eyes. “Will you ever stop being dramatic? But I’m not wrong, Derek. They know your weakness. They knew it wasn’t the girl – “

“Erica,” Derek bit out.

“Erica,” Peter said with a heavy sigh, “or they’d have killed her. They know it’s Stiles.”

“They took Erica to get at Chris,” Derek said. “Just like they took his daughter.”

“Perhaps, but the note was left for you,” Peter said, tapping it with his finger. “Which specifically mentioned Stiles. That’s the real threat. Sure, Gerard wants to hurt Chris, but _you_ are the one who killed his daughter. You’ll protect your Pack, but he knows that you will die protecting Stiles, that hurting Stiles will hurt you the most.”

“What’s your point?” Derek asked.

“It’s simply an observation, dear nephew.” Peter tapped his finger against the note as he stared at it. “Unfortunately, we cannot ignore this. And I’ve been dragged into the fray, despite my exhaustive efforts to remain neutral on all fronts.”

“Neutral?” Derek snorted. “That’s rich.”

Peter ignored the comment. “We must find a way to negotiate with them. Perhaps if we arrange a meeting, they will be willing to talk.”

Derek just stared at his uncle. “Are you serious? You want to negotiate?”

Peter’s eyes flashed blue as he pulled his mouth back into a snarl, revealing his fangs. “I didn’t say what kind of negotiating I intended to do.” When Peter’s fangs retracted, his eyes were still bright blue when he said, “I know Gerard killed my sister. And I will not rest until I rip every limb from his body.”

Derek may have hated Peter, but he hated Gerard more, and in that moment, he was glad Peter was on his side.

*

Erica’s entire face lit up when Stiles entered the room. “Hey you,” she said as she struggled to sit up. “What are you doing here?”

Stiles sat gingerly on the bed beside her. “Did you really think I wasn’t going to come check on you?” He raked his eyes over her injuries, which should have healed by now. 

“Wolfsbane,” she supplied. “Like what they hit Derek with. Slows down the healing process. Doc says I’ll be good in a few days.” She gave him a wide smile, all self-assuredness and bravado.

“How are you doing, though?” At that, Erica’s face fell a bit, and Stiles started to see glimpses of vulnerability poking through. “We could start a club, the ‘Hunters Tortured Us Club.’ I can be the president, and you the vice president, but I’m willing to defer the title of president to you if you really want.” That time, Erica gave him a genuine smile. “It’s settled. You’re president.”

“You’re silly.”

“But I made you smile.”

Erica grabbed Stiles’ hand and squeezed it. Then, she dropped her eyes and stared at their clasped hands. “How do you sleep without seeing their faces?” Erica asked quietly. “How do you walk outside without being scared they’re going to take you again?” She shook her head. “I was safe in the Sour Wolf, surrounded by Pack, and they still got to me.”

Stiles climbed onto the bed and pulled Erica into his arms. She curled her hands into his shirt and clutched him, her tears soaking into the fabric. “It’s difficult,” Stiles whispered as he stroked her hair. “If you want to know the truth, I don’t think I’ve fully processed what happened to me. So much just keeps happening, I haven’t had time to think about it.”

“Aren’t you scared?” 

“Terrified. Every time I step out of the door, I’m terrified,” Stiles replied quietly.

“Derek’s been by here three times already. He even brought me flowers.” Stiles glanced over at the array of flowers atop a nearby armoire. “He’s changed since you came. He’s more like he was before Laura died, but even more open than that.”

Stiles didn’t know what to say, so he just continued running his hands through her hair soothingly.

“Thanks for finding Chris,” Erica said. 

“Have you seen him?” Stiles asked, and Erica shook her head.

“Allison said he’s at the Sour Wolf, sleeping off his drunk.”

“Can I ask you a question?” Stiles asked tentatively.

“Why am I with him?” Erica guessed. “He’s a good man, Stiles. I feel safe and…comfortable when I’m with him.” Stiles snorted in disbelief.

Erica looked up at Stiles for a moment. “Chris is the first man I’ve trusted in a long time.” She settled back onto Stiles’ chest. “Isaac and I met on the streets of Philadelphia when we were twelve? Thirteen? My parents were dead, and Isaac’s dad used to beat him so bad, he’d show up with broken bones and black eyes. Isaac would bring me food, eventually let me sleep in the basement of his building. 

“It was okay for awhile. But one day, Isaac’s dad came home and found me and Isaac in the apartment.” Erica let out a bitter laugh. “We were just playing cards. I had frostbite on my toes and fingers from sleeping in the basement, and Isaac brought me upstairs. He was going to let me sleep in his closet through the rest of the winter. But that never happened.”

“What happened?” Stiles asked quietly.

“Isaac’s dad thought we were being inappropriate, and he started beating Isaac so bad, I thought he was going to die. I jumped in, took a few licks, and then Isaac smashed his dad’s head with a cast iron pan. Killed him right on the spot. So, we ran, and hopped a train to New York.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Stiles asked. “Aren’t you afraid the cops will find out?”

Erica shrugged. “It was four years ago. No one’s even tried to come looking for us. What’s one dead Irish immigrant, right? And no one’s going to lose sleep over two immigrant runaways.”

“I’m sorry.” Stiles dropped a kiss on the top of her head.

“Isaac pickpocketed so we could eat when we got here,” Erica continued. “And I found that Isaac and I could eat for a month if I let a couple of men fuck me once a week. It wasn’t so bad, but some of the men…”

“What did they do?” Stiles asked.

“You don’t want to know,” Erica said. “Suffice it to say, when Derek found us, we readily accepted the bite. Derek was so kind, let me do basically what I wanted. He and Laura never said anything about me dressing like a man, or my smart mouth. I never wanted to be with anyone ever again, but then I met Chris. He was older, gentle, and comforting. I don’t know if I believe in love, but we’re both supremely fucked up, and somehow, it works for us.”

“Seems to be the motto of the whole fucking Pack.”

“Allison hates the idea of me and her dad,” Erica said. “She thinks it’s about sex, or that I’m doing it to piss her off, and I mean, I don’t do much to dispel that,” she laughed. “But I think she’s starting to understand now. She actually sat with me while Chris was…who knows where. We had a long talk.”

“So, you’re friends now.”

“Eh, friends is a bit generous. Civil is a better description.”

“You will get through this,” Stiles said confidently. “Just like you’ve gotten through everything else. You’re tough, Erica. We won’t let what the hunters did to us defeat us. You’ve got Chris, I’ve got Derek, and we will win.”

“Stay with me,” Erica said, “Until I fall asleep?”

“Of course.”

Stiles thought Erica had dozed off when she said, “You’re a good second.” Stiles glanced at her quizzically as she nuzzled her face against his neck. “You smell like Derek, like Pack. You give the comfort he doesn’t know how,” she muttered sleepily. 

Stiles stared at the wall as he listened to her breathing even out, letting her words sink in.

*

Stiles thought about going to the office and catching up on some work, but after spending the morning with Erica, he just couldn’t face being alone with his thoughts the entire afternoon.

Cause the thing was, Stiles hadn’t been fine in awhile. His conversation with Erica just reminded him of the point. But just like after his mom died, just like after every fight he ever got into, Stiles shoved it all down and kept going.

He took the secret passage downstairs into the Sour Wolf. When he stepped through the door, he immediately heard Isaac’s flawless piano playing and the sound of Cora’s voice. But then, he heard an unexpected deep, rich voice accompanying Cora. 

Boyd was on stage, sitting on a stool beside the piano, which Cora was perched on top of. They were singing a duet, and Stiles just hung by the door, unwilling to disturb them. They smiled at each other as they sang, Cora’s sultry, and sometimes slightly high, voice flowing over the notes effortlessly, and Boyd’s deep notes resounding through the entire room. 

They were fantastic.

The song ended, and Cora said, “He’s not here.” She turned to where Stiles was huddled against the wall, and he stepped from the shadows. “I don’t know where he is.”

“I’m not looking for Derek.” Stiles walked onto the stage and sat on the piano stool beside Isaac. Isaac leaned into him briefly. “Boyd, I didn’t know you could sing. You’re wonderful.”

Boyd looked away, visibly pleased. Cora, though, was beaming as she watched him. “He’s the best, better than me. I keep trying to convince him to get up here and sing.” She reached across the space between them and grabbed his hand. “I wish we could sing a duet, but I don’t think that’d be very smart.”

“Not if you two looked at each other like you were doing just then.” Cora squeezed Boyd’s hand as Stiles settled comfortably against Isaac. 

Isaac started another number, unaffected by Stiles’ weight against him. Stiles closed his eyes, soothed by the sound of Cora and Boyd’s voices, by the feeling of _Pack_ around him.

He still didn’t quite understand all of the intricacies of werewolf Packs, didn’t quite understand the bonds the wolves shared with one another. But in that moment, as the sound of Isaac’s piano playing and Cora and Boyd’s singing floated into his dozing state, as Isaac’s body lay warm against his own, as he listened to the sounds of their breathing and laughter, he thought he was starting to get it. Maybe it was like listening to Erica’s story while he held her, or Lydia and Allison surrounding him while he edged near a panic attack. Or how Scott always seemed to know what was going on in his head before he told him. Or Derek.

Erica had called him a _second_. Peter had said Derek had marked him so other werewolves would know his connection to Derek. It was a lot to take in, but as he drifted between consciousness, Stiles realized he was okay with it, if that was his position in the Pack.

When Stiles woke up later, Cora was still singing, and Derek was leaning against the piano near her. Stiles wasn’t leaning on Isaac anymore, he was cuddled against Scott. Scott gave him a smile when Stiles straightened up and yawned. 

Derek turned to Stiles the moment he was awake and smiled at him, a private smile meant just for Stiles amidst the rest of the Pack. Stiles felt himself blush, his pulse quicken at the rush of affection he felt.

“That was good, Cora,” Derek said, rubbing his hand over her neck and shoulders when she finished. Her eyes flashed gold as she preened. Stiles noticed the change in Derek, the offering of affection and praise, noticed the surprise yet greedy acceptance from Cora.

“You should sing,” Cora suggested, pushing Derek’s arm lightly. “Stiles hasn’t heard you sing yet. You can woo him with your voice.”

“I think the time for wooing has passed,” Isaac quipped as he ran his fingers over the keys in an absent melody.

“I think these two have _wooed_ enough,” Boyd added, wrinkling his nose. Stiles barked out a surprised laugh at Boyd’s words. It was so rare for Boyd to speak, and even rarer for him to make a joke.

“You sing?” Stiles asked. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

The blush that crept up Derek’s neck and jaw was adorable, and Stiles wanted to kiss all the places his skin was tinged pink and feel the warmth beneath his lips. 

“Thoughts,” Isaac leaned over and whispered, which caused Stiles to blush a matching shade to Derek.

“Derek’s a fantastic singer,” Cora said eagerly. “He used to sing all the time.” She paused, and said more quietly, “Before our mom died. Laura used to make him sing, but he hasn’t since…”

The wolves looked like they were sharing Cora and Derek’s emotion, something Stiles and Scott weren’t privy to. Isaac started playing a song, and Derek glared at him, while Cora and Boyd laughed. Isaac tried to look innocent, but that close, Stiles could see the smirk tugging at the edge of his lips.

“Fine,” Derek growled. Isaac winked at Stiles, and playing a slightly older jazz tune Stiles didn’t recognize. Derek looked extremely self-conscious as he started singing, his voice a bit rusty and unsure. But as the verse led into the chorus, Derek seemed to drop some of his armor and just _let go_. 

Stiles watched in amazement as Derek’s voice moved through the song. His voice wasn’t rich and full like Boyd’s, more nasal and high, delicately hitting the notes. Stiles wished he could see Derek up on the stage, with the lights turned low, wearing his fedora and clutching the microphone…

Derek’s eyebrow lifted as Stiles’ thoughts turned less than appropriate, and Stiles blushed and bit his lip as Derek missed the lead in to the bridge of the song. Cora giggled while Boyd rolled his eyes.

When the song was over, Scott and Cora clapped happily while Stiles climbed over Scott to get off the piano stool.

“That was wonderful, Derek,” Cora said, kissing his cheek. “I still think you and Boyd should figure out a duet number, or maybe you and I could.”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Derek mumbled as Stiles came up and threw his arms around Derek’s neck. 

“How dare you hide this talent from me?” Stiles asked, grinning. “How are you even real?”

Derek scowled, but Stiles could see the flush returning to his cheeks. Stiles kissed him, and Derek easily slid his arms around Stiles’ waist. Stiles would never get tired of this, the feeling of Derek’s lips beneath his, and he’d never truly feel calm unless Derek was near. 

“Um, guys?” Scott said hesitantly. They broke apart, Stiles having momentarily forgotten that they weren’t alone.

“Leave them alone, they’re cute,” Cora said.

“Hardly,” Isaac drawled.

Stiles just grinned and rested his forehead against Derek’s.

*

The Sour Wolf was almost empty. Isaac was idly playing the piano on stage, but no one was dancing. Cora sat in a booth with Scott, Allison, and Lydia, because there weren’t enough customers for Allison and Derek both to be behind the bar. Stiles was with Derek now, sitting on the floor between the counter and cabinets, trying to create an inventory of what was left over from the raid.

“You smell like Erica,” Derek said as he stocked bottles. 

“I visited her earlier,” Stiles explained, looking up from the book in his lap. “I thought since I was really the only one who kinda knew what she was going through…”

“No, that’s good.” Derek nodded and looked at Stiles. “That’s really good. She needs the support, to know she’s not alone.”

“She needs Pack,” Stiles said. Derek looked at him for a few moments, Stiles unable to decipher the expression. Then Derek went back to stocking.

“People are going to return, right?” Stiles asked a bit later as he penciled in the number of whiskey bottles. “It was just the raid scaring them off.”

“They should return within a week,” Derek replied distractedly. He was on his hands and knees, looking through a false wall in the cabinets where he kept hidden supplies of alcohol. Stiles got distracted by the way his ass looked with his trousers pulled snugly over them. He just wanted to rub his hands over the swell, squeeze until he left handprints, and keep squeezing every time they went away…

“Stiles.” 

Stiles snapped from his haze and glanced over to find Derek watching him, amused expression on his face. “Sorry,” he said. “But you just can’t put your ass in my face and expect me not to look.”

Derek rolled his eyes, but crawled close enough that he could kiss Stiles. “Concentrate long enough to get through a shift of work,” Derek chuckled against his lips. “I know there aren’t a lot of people here, but we’re not _that_ kind of club.”

“Ever had sex in the secret passage?” Stiles whispered with a wicked grin. “We could pop away for a few moments,” he continued, pressing his hand against Derek’s crotch and rubbing, “I could drop to my knees, let you fuck my mouth – “

“Really, guys?” Cora yelled from across the room, and Stiles immediately jerked his hand away, feeling incredibly embarrassed.

“Fucking werewolves.”

“I heard that!”

“Have I ever told you that I hate your sister?” Stiles asked with a smile. Derek just laughed and kissed Stiles again.

Stiles was down in the cellar, sweeping up broken glass with Derek, when he noticed Derek’s head turn sharply to the side, and then Derek started up the ladder. Stiles dropped the broom without a thought and followed after him, and as soon as his head crested the floor, he heard yelling coming from near the door.

“Did you think I wouldn’t recognize you?” Boyd growled. “Even in plain clothes?”

“Boyd, let him go!” Derek commanded, voice all steel and authority. 

Stiles stumbled on the way out of the cellar, scrabbling to get up as Boyd said, “This is one of those bulls from the other night. Trying to sneak in like we wouldn’t _remember_.” The last word Boyd nearly growled.

When Stiles finally got to his feet and saw the scene, his heart dropped into his feet. Boyd was holding his dad. Boyd was holding his dad and _digging a pistol into his temple._

Stiles couldn’t move.

“Boyd, I said let him go,” Derek growled.

“Why?” Boyd asked. He dug the gun deeper into the sheriff’s temple, and that’s when Stiles unfroze from his spot and sprinted across the speakeasy.

“It’s his dad,” Derek yelled. “It’s Stiles’ dad.”

Boyd glanced at the man in confusion as Stiles came to a skidding halt in front of them, nothing but flailing limbs. Derek caught his arm as Stiles nearly toppled over, and Stiles didn’t miss how despite being held by a large doorman with a gun, his dad caught the touch and accompanying gentle squeeze.

“Dad?” Stiles asked, voice breaking.

Stiles could only stare at his father, standing so close to him inside the speakeasy of all places, as Boyd holstered his gun, straightened him up, and stepped away. Boyd stood nearby though, watching closely with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Guess you ain’t gotta worry about too much riffraff getting in here, do you?” the sheriff said as he looked at Boyd with a mixture of irritation and respect. 

“Only the Feds, apparently,” Stiles replied without thinking, and his dad narrowed his eyes. Stiles shook his head, and took a step closer. Derek took a step, too, still so close Stiles could hear him breathing. “What are you doing here?”

“We need to talk,” the sheriff said, then flicked his eyes to Derek, “alone.”

He felt Derek tense behind him, but he remained silent. Stiles turned around, and Derek’s face was pulled into a deep scowl. Stiles ran his hand lightly over Derek’s arm and gave him his best reassuring smile before facing his father again. The sheriff’s face was somehow formed in an even deeper scowl than Derek’s, and he momentarily wondered what it said about him that he surrounded himself with these kind of men.

“Follow me,” Stiles said. The sheriff gave Derek one last, hard look before following Stiles over to the entrance to the secret passage. Inside, the sheriff lit a sequence of matches so he could light the way that Stiles had memorized. They emerged in a room on the second floor. He dropped into a chair while his dad sat rigidly on the sofa.

“Where are we?” the sheriff asked. 

“My office,” Stiles replied. His dad’s face scrunched in confusion. “I work for Derek, both on and off the books. We’re on the second floor of the theater.”

“So, this is what you’ve been doing,” the sheriff said after a few painfully silent moments. “Spending your nights at a cheap gin joint, in cahoots with a bootlegger with ties to the mafia?” With each word, his father’s voice increased in volume. “Please tell me everything I just said isn’t true!”

Stiles cringed, but remained silent.

“Why?” the sheriff asked. “Why would you do this? It’s illegal, Stiles, and you’re…you’re my son. You should know better.”

“It has nothing to do with you, Dad,” Stiles said. “All of this just…kinda happened.”

“A skinned knee kinda happens, Stiles, not _joining the mob_!”

“I’m not part of the mob!” Stiles exclaimed. “And neither is anyone else here. Peter Hale is Derek’s uncle, that’s it.” His father didn’t need to know the details of _that_ relationship; Stiles wasn’t even sure who in the Pack knew what Derek did for Peter.

The sheriff sighed and rubbed his eyes before slumping back against the couch. “What am I supposed to say here, Stiles? Please tell me, because I just don’t know.”

Stiles stared at his hands, trying to find the words. But before he could figure anything out, Scott came bursting through the door in a panic. Stiles and his dad both stared at him in surprise.

“Sheriff Stilinski,” Scott started, taking in deep lungfuls of air like he sprinted up the two flights of stairs. “Stiles hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“Except being part of an illegal speakeasy,” the sheriff said, “which apparently you are also implicit in.” The sheriff pointed his finger and squinted. “Does your mother know?”

Scott looked truly abashed at that. He looked anywhere but at the sheriff, shuffling his feet like he used to do when they were seven and got in trouble for breaking windows. “No.”

“I thought as much.” The sheriff sighed again. “I don’t know if I’m furious because you dragged Scott into whatever it is you’ve gotten yourself into, or glad that at least he’s here to keep you out of trouble.”

“Hey!” Stiles exclaimed. “How do you know it’s not me keeping him out of trouble?” The sheriff lifted his head and shot Stiles a disbelieving look. “Alright, it’s mostly me in trouble, but that’s not the point.”

“Scott, I appreciate your devotion to my son,” the sheriff started. “But nothing you say is going to change the things Stiles and I have to discuss.”

Scott nodded, shot Stiles an apologetic look along with a shrug of his shoulders, and then left the room. 

“I guess things can’t be too bad if Scott’s still hanging around,” the sheriff said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That Scott doesn’t have your penchant for trouble and mischief. And apparently has a better sense of self-preservation.” The sheriff leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Tell me what’s going on. And don’t lie, because I swear to god, I will strangle you if you do.”

Stiles ran a hand through his hair and started talking. He told his dad about leaving the job at the docks, the speakeasy, his job for Derek. He just left out important details, like all the almost dying bits, the sex, and the existence of werewolves.

“So, let me get this straight,” the sheriff said. “Derek is a good bootlegger, who isn’t part of the mob although his uncle is, and he runs a speakeasy he used to co-own with his now-dead sister – “

“Murdered sister,” Stiles interjected.

“His now-murdered sister, while his other sister, who is your age just like everyone else who works in the joint, is a jazz singer. Scott buses tables at the speakeasy, and you are Derek’s bookkeeper.”

“Yep,” Stiles said with a loud pop. 

“You realize just how ludicrous this all sounds,” the sheriff said. “Where do I start? Good bootleggers? Murder? An older man hanging out with a bunch of teenagers?”

“He’s not that old,” Stiles mumbled. “Besides, we’re all eighteen.”

“What about Derek?” Stiles tried to look innocent, but the sheriff quickly said, “Son, I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck. I saw the way he looked at you the night of the raid and again tonight, and the way he touched you. That was not a friendly touch.” His father looked upset at the very notion.

“Derek and I are…together,” Stiles settled on. 

“Stiles, he’s a man.”

“I am very much aware of that fact, yep.” Stiles nodded his head.

“You do realize that’s wrong,” the sheriff said. “And illegal.”

“Don’t care.” 

The sheriff exhaled heavily as he dropped his head into his hands. “What would your mother say?”

“Don’t,” Stiles snapped. “Don’t use Mom against me.”

“What in the hell do you want me to say?” the sheriff exclaimed as he lifted his head. “I find out my son is doing all sorts of illegal activities, and is sexually involved with a man. What do you want? A pat on the back? A ‘good job son’?”

“No!” 

“Then what?”

“I don’t know!” Stiles yelled. “I just…I miss you, Dad,” he said, his anger breaking under the stronger emotions. “You’re all I have left.”

“Yet you chose this Derek guy and his band of goons.”

“They’re not goons,” Stiles said. “They’re wonderful people. You’d like them if you ever met them. And I didn’t _choose_ Derek over you. It’s not a competition.”

The sheriff looked at Stiles for a few moments like he was trying to solve a riddle. “Is it rebellion? Experimentation?” He paused, then asked, “Why a man?”

“Because I love him,” Stiles stated.

“You _love_ him?”

“I do. Very much.”

“But why him in the first place? Surely there are plenty of women for you to…perform your indiscretions with.”

“Didn’t want them,” Stiles said. “I only wanted Derek.”

“Have you and he…has he…violated you?” The sheriff looked uncomfortable even vocalizing the words.

“I’m still a virgin, if that’s what you mean,” Stiles said. The sheriff relaxed.

“Then it’s not too late.”

“Well, I’m technically a virgin.”

“What?”

“We haven’t…you know…”

“Actually, I don’t want to know.” The sheriff shook his head and got up from the sofa to pace around the room. “You know once you do it, you can never change it.”

“I don’t want to change any of it.”

The sheriff paced for awhile, and then stopped in front of Stiles. “Why? Why choose any of this?”

“I felt like I was going to suffocate on those docks,” Stiles said. “I’ve never felt so alive as I have the last few months. And Derek…” Stiles shook his head. “I never knew you could feel that way about someone. I thought love like that was only in stories.”

“It’s not love, son,” the sheriff said gently. “It’s infatuation. Eventually, that goes away and all you’ll be left with is a pile of regrets.”

Stiles didn’t say anything, just glared at his father as he chewed on his lip to refrain from saying something he really would regret.

When the sheriff saw Stiles wasn’t going to say anything, he said, “The job at the dock was temporary, only until you went to school this fall. What about Columbia?”

Stiles snorted. “You really think you can afford to send me to Columbia?”

“There are ways, Stiles,” the sheriff said. “We had a plan, you were – “

“I know what the plan was!” Stiles yelled. “But that plan never would have worked! You can barely pay the rent on the apartment as it is now, and working at the dock for a few months wouldn’t pay my tuition. I would have ended up working there for twenty, thirty years just like every other bimbo who still talked about getting out. I didn’t want that to be me!”

“Stiles, I’ve worked too hard to get you to where you are to have you throw it away for some lowlife in a juice joint!”

“It has nothing to do with Derek!” Stiles felt a rage course through him, one he’d tried to repress every time he thought about college. “College was never in my future, Dad.”

“You did not bust your ass at that fancy private school to throw it all away!”

“There’s nothing I can do, Dad!” Stiles exclaimed. “So drop it!”

“I will not drop it!” the sheriff yelled, pointing his finger in Stiles’ face. “You are my only son, and I love you, goddammit! My parents didn’t take every penny they ever had to come to this country just so you could squander your life away!”

“You still love me?” Stiles asked, voice quiet and vulnerable. Those were the only words Stiles heard. “Even after everything?”

The sheriff seemed to deflate a little. “Of course I still love you. Doesn’t mean I’m not mad as hell.” Stiles passed a trembling hand over his face, and the sheriff perched on the edge of the sofa carefully. “Please stop this, the illegal activities, Derek…it’s too dangerous.”

“I’m not leaving Derek,” Stiles said, “or the speakeasy. Can you live with that?”

The sheriff stood. “The question is, can you?” 

He walked to the door, and Stiles called out, “Where are you going?”

“I don’t know. I…I just need some time, Stiles. To figure things out. It’s a lot to process.” When he reached the door, he paused. “Where are you living?”

“I lived here for awhile, until the raid.”

“Now where are you staying?”

Stiles shrugged. “I’ve been sleeping at Derek’s.” The muscle in the sheriff’s jaw twitched.

“You can always come home,” the sheriff said. Stiles remained silent, staring at the floor until after the sheriff left. 

Stiles was surprised when Derek dropped in front of him and took his hands into his. Stiles looked at him, and suddenly, he just felt wrecked and exhausted.

“I heard everything,” Derek said. When Stiles’ brows bunched in confusion, Derek explained a bit embarrassed, “I followed you up here. I was worried, and wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Stiles didn’t have the energy to be mad. He just opened his arms, and Derek slid between his legs and wrapped his arms around Stiles’ waist, burying his face into Stiles’ chest. Stiles rested his head on Derek’s, not caring that tears were leaking from his eyes or that his breathing was uneven. Panic was threatening to overcome him, but Derek was there, holding him, rubbing comforting circles on his back.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Derek asked after awhile.

“No.”

Stiles didn’t know how much time had passed when Derek pulled away and glanced at the door, Scott appearing in the doorway a moment later. Isaac hovered nervously nearby.

“You okay?” Scott asked. He took a few tentative steps into the room, and Stiles patted the cushion beside him. Scott dropped heavily beside him and put a hand on Stiles’ shoulder.

Stiles filled Scott and Isaac in on what happened with his dad while Derek went downstairs to tell Cora and Allison to close up the Sour Wolf for him.

“Do you think your dad will tell my mom?” Scott asked when Stiles had finished.

Stiles shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably not. He wouldn’t want to upset her, I don’t think.”

“Do you think he’s going to arrest us?” Scott asked, eyes wild with panic. “I really don’t want to go to jail.”

“He’s my dad,” Stiles said. “He let me go during the raid. I don’t think he wants me behind bars.”

Scott inhaled as he nodded. When Derek returned, Stiles said goodbye to Scott and Isaac, and then followed Derek downstairs. The entire drive to Brooklyn Heights, he stared out of the window, lost in his thoughts.

“Stiles,” Derek’s voice cut in gently. “We’re home.” Stiles blinked and hadn’t even realized they had stopped.

Upstairs, Derek immediately went into the bathroom and started drawing them a bath. Stiles was about to protest, but decided that lying in a warm bath with Derek wasn’t the worst thing that he could do. Stiles disrobed slowly, not even noticing when Derek had removed all his clothes and sunk beneath the water. 

“Stiles?” 

When Stiles glanced over his shoulder, Derek was staring at him, brows drawn together in concern. “I’m coming in. Be patient.”

“You’ve been standing there for five minutes.”

“Oh.” Stiles hadn’t realized he’d zoned out, didn’t even remember what he’d been thinking about.

“Stiles, are you okay?” Derek asked as Stiles stepped over the side of the tub. Stiles lay back against the other side of the tub, facing Derek. Derek was tense with worry, and Stiles could only stare at him dumbly. 

“So much has happened,” Stiles said. “I don’t even know how to feel anymore.”

Derek looked around helplessly for a few moments before he scooted forward and took Stiles’ hands in his own. “Maybe you should go back home,” Derek started, “be with your dad for awhile while you figure things out.”

Stiles looked at him sharply. “Are you trying to push me away again?”

“How can you even ask that?” Derek asked, looking pained. “But Stiles, you’re scaring the hell out of me. You’re just staring off into space and you feel like…” Derek trailed off and cupped Stiles’ face with his wet hand.

“What? What do I feel like, Derek?”

“Pain.”

They didn’t talk as Derek soaped a rag and washed Stiles’ chest and arms, casting furtive worried glances Stiles’ way. Stiles’ brain was on overload, his thoughts flickering so quickly that he couldn’t keep up. He just stared at the wall, but all he was saw was his dad, the hunters beating him, the man he killed, Derek at the mercy of a sword, Erica’s broken body, the dead omegas, Lydia and Allison laughing, Cora singing, Isaac holding Scott, Derek crouching over him as he kissed him, the look on Derek’s face when he came.

“My dad is so disappointed,” Stiles finally said. Derek paused, the only sound in the room the wet rag dripping into the bathwater. “And he doesn’t know that I got kidnapped, or that I killed a man.” He shook his head. 

“He still loves you,” Derek said. “It was coming off him in waves. He’s worried, but he’s fiercely protective of you.” Stiles turned his head and finally looked at Derek. “Something we have in common, I guess.”

“Everything I do will hurt someone,” Stiles said. “I wish this was easier.”

“I know,” Derek said, curling his hand around Stiles’ neck and bringing their foreheads together. “Believe me, I know.”

“Is there any hope?”

“Yes.” Derek rubbed his thumb along Stiles’ cheek and looked into his eyes. “I used to not believe that, but then I met you.”

Stiles laughed. “And look at me now. I’ll be in an asylum by the end of the summer.”

“No you won’t,” Derek said. “You’re strong and brave. You just need time to heal.” Derek crawled into Stiles’ lap and clasped his hands behind Stiles’ head. “After we deal with Gerard, I’ll take you away, to the coast. We’ll rent a little house away from everyone else, just you and me. We’ll swim in the ocean, lay on the beach, and make love for days with no thought to anything else.”

Stiles smiled. His hands traced rivulets of water down Derek’s arms. “Sounds like a wonderful fantasy.” 

“Not a fantasy,” Derek said. “We’ll make it a reality, I promise.”

Derek kissed him, and in that moment, Stiles believed him. Believed that they would all be okay, despite Gerard, despite Peter, despite everything lurking out there waiting to crush them.

*

Stiles rolled over and let out a surprised noise, which was met with a muffled grunt. He was surprised to find Derek still beside him, since most mornings Derek had been gone for so long when Stiles awoke that the bed was cold. But it wasn’t cold now; Derek was warm and waking slowly beside him.

“Shouldn’t you be working?” Stiles watched Derek’s eyes flutter open across the pillows. Stiles shifted as he rubbed his own eyes, and tangled their legs together.

“Trying to get rid of me?” Derek joked, his eyes falling shut again. “So cold.”

“Yep, I just hate waking up beside you.”

Derek started rubbing his feet along Stiles’ calves as he smiled. Stiles stared in wonder at the way his stomach filled with butterflies at the sight of Derek’s long, dark lashes, the stubble along his face, his full lips.

“I can feel it,” Derek mumbled, not bothering to open his eyes. He pressed his hand against Stiles’ chest. 

“I think it’s unfair you know how I feel all the time, and I can’t do the same.”

Derek’s eyes opened, and he looked at Stiles softly. “Fear, protectiveness, and love. That’s always what I feel where you’re concerned.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Stiles said. He knew it was true; he wasn’t going to let a bunch of hunters control his life, and was going to figure out a way to repair the relationship with his father. And all the while staying with Derek.

“It’s been thirty six hours,” Derek said. “Halfway to Gerard’s deadline.”

“You’ll defeat him,” Stiles said. 

“That’s the plan.”

Stiles could tell Derek was scared, so he snuggled closer and pulled the blankets closer around them. He didn’t know what to say, and he knew words were meaningless anyway. Either they would win, or they’d all be dead. It didn’t make sense to worry about it.

“Why didn’t you tell me you got into Columbia,” Derek said.

Stiles looked away from him and sighed. “It doesn’t matter. I won’t be going.”

“That’s stupid.” Stiles glared at Derek, and Derek glared right back. “You were valedictorian, you got into an Ivy League school. Don’t throw your life away. Don’t end up like me.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I don’t have the money.”

“Bullshit. What have you been doing with all the money you’ve been making here?” Stiles didn’t respond and Derek lifted his eyebrows. “I know you haven’t been buying anything, or paying rent.”

“I’ve got to find somewhere to live eventually.”

“You can move in here.”

“I’m not moving in with you,” Stiles said. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea right now. We’re still not ready. I mean, we haven’t even had sex yet.”

Derek wrapped his arm around Stiles and slipped his fingers between his cheeks. Stiles gasped in surprise when Derek’s finger brushed over his hole. “We will, after all this settles down. I want to do it right, not be distracted. I want you to be ready.” Stiles’ eyes drifted shut as Derek massaged his hole, and he hooked his leg over Derek’s thighs as Derek nipped at his ear. “Doesn’t mean we can’t practice a bit though.”

Stiles moaned as Derek pushed the tip of his finger inside him. Derek was biting and kissing along the column of Stiles’ neck, and Stiles kept pushing back into Derek’s touch. It burned slightly, and Derek couldn’t go any deeper, but Stiles needed more. He needed to feel more than just the tip of Derek’s finger inside him. “More,” Stiles moaned. “Please.”

Derek removed his hand and twisted in the bed, and Stiles started covering Derek’s chest in kisses. He flicked his tongue over Derek’s nipple, and Derek moaned as he settled his arm around Stiles. This time when he pushed his finger against Stiles’ hole, it was slick and covered in lubricant so it slid inside Stiles easily.

Stiles cried out as Derek’s finger moved deeper. There was a mix of pleasure and pain as he stretched around Derek. But Derek was covering his face and neck with kisses, and murmuring comforting words against his skin.

For a brief moment, Stiles panicked. The first time they’d been together, Derek did this and Stiles couldn’t handle it. Now they were trying again, and Stiles still wasn’t sure. Pain and discomfort was cancelling out the pleasure. What if he wasn’t good at this? Wasn’t that what Derek used the prostitutes for? If he couldn’t get used to this, Derek might get what he needed from whores, and Stiles couldn’t even fathom that – 

“Hey,” Derek said, removing his finger and cupping Stiles’ face between his palms. “Look at me.” Stiles opened his eyes, and the concern and understanding on Derek’s face was overwhelming. “It’s okay, if you can’t – “

“But I want to,” Stiles said. “If I don’t…”

“If you don’t, what?” Derek asked, and Stiles looked away, embarrassed. “Hey, do you think I won’t want you if you don’t like it?” Stiles shrugged. “God, you are so stupid, Stiles. Have you not figured out anything about my feelings for you?” Stiles looked at him slowly, and Derek sighed.

Stiles swallowed over the emotion welling inside him. He nodded, and grabbed Derek’s hand to place it on his ass again. “Again. I want to feel you, Derek. Does it ever stop hurting?”

Derek nodded and kissed Stiles. “Yes, and remember, I will never hurt you, okay? You tell me to stop, we stop.”

Stiles nodded, and Derek’s brow creased before he gently rolled Stiles onto his back and then settled himself between Stiles’ thighs. Then, he carefully lifted both his legs, instructing Stiles to hold them. Stiles felt exposed and open like this, and he took a few deep breaths to calm his rabbiting heartbeat. Derek ran his hands down Stiles’ thighs and over his hips, and after a few moments, Stiles began to relax.

Then, Derek licked his hole, and Stiles fell apart. Derek’s tongue was soft and wet, each swipe against his sensitive skin shooting straight to his cock. He had lost his erection when Derek fingered him, but now he was harder than before, the tip dragging against his belly and smearing precome against his skin. Derek’s tongue and lips were everywhere at once, and Stiles’ brain could barely believe that Derek was tasting him _there_. It felt wrong and dirty and fucking perfect.

“Taste so fucking good,” Derek mumbled in between moans and deep growls of pleasure, and Stiles wondered how this could be pleasurable for Derek, but the longer Derek licked into him, the more he wanted to try himself.

When Derek pushed his tongue inside Stiles, Stiles sobbed in pleasure. He was so worked up, his thighs shaking from the pleasure and the position, his entire body tense as Derek fucked him with his tongue. And then something clicked for him, Derek was sliding into him with his tongue, and it didn’t hurt – it felt fucking divine.

“Derek,” Stiles said, his voice unsteady and desperate, “I think I’m ready.”

Derek hummed against his rim, but didn’t pull away. He kept licking him greedily, like he couldn’t get enough. Stiles stopped thinking and just gave into the waves of pleasure rolling through him. It wasn’t enough to come, and he didn’t dare touch himself for fear he would come immediately, but it had every nerve in his body on fire.

When Derek finally pulled his mouth away, Stiles had lost track of how long Derek had been licking into him. Stiles inhaled deeply, some of his senses coming back to him. 

“You okay?” Derek asked, kissing along Stiles’ thighs. 

Stiles nodded, and then Derek added more lubricant to his hands. But he didn’t immediately use his fingers; he went back between Stiles’ legs and started tracing circles around his opening with his tongue, teasing touches that had Stiles babbling and moaning loudly. With Derek’s tongue still stroking his rim, Derek tentatively slid his finger inside. Stiles’ hole was so relaxed that it pushed in with little resistance, and although it hurt a little as Derek slid it past the first knuckle and then second, there was also an immense pleasure that accompanied it.

“How’s that feel?” Derek asked. He dropped kisses along Stiles’ cheeks, and licked along the sensitive skin behind his balls.

“Fuck,” Stiles breathed. “It feels good. Please, don’t stop.”

He felt Derek smile against his skin and start sucking a mark in the inside of his thigh as he slid his finger out of Stiles slowly. Stiles was surprised when he whined aloud at the loss of Derek inside him, and then Derek pushed it back inside. Stiles moaned.

Derek set up a gentle rhythm as he fingered him, and before long all pain gave way to pleasure and Stiles was begging for more. The second finger burned as it stretched, but Derek went back to licking around his hole, kissing and massaging with his tongue until Stiles relaxed and adjusted to the pain. 

This…was not what Stiles was expecting. He expected more pain and discomfort, but this was the farthest thing from either of those feelings. He let go of his legs and dug his heels into the bed, his stomach tensing as he lifted slightly from the bed. The angle was different now that his legs were down, but Derek’s fingers slid in easily now, the slick friction causing Stiles to fist his hands in the sheets.

“Talk to me,” Derek said, kissing the inside of Stiles’ knee. “Tell me how you’re feeling.” Stiles could barely think. He opened his mouth to respond, but the only thing that came out was a garbled string of moans and high-pitched whines. “You’re not in pain, right?”

“Does it look like I’m in pain?” Stiles managed through clenched teeth. Derek’s fingers were going too slow, just teasing and he needed…he didn’t know what he needed. “Please,” he said, “Faster, more, _something_.”

Carefully, Derek inserted a third finger, and Stiles moaned as he pushed down on Derek’s fingers, feeling pushed to the limits. The pain was barely there, just a dull ache in the back of his mind as his body stretched and adjusted yet again. And then Derek started fucking Stiles with his fingers, quick thrusts with his hand as he twisted them inside of Stiles, hitting places inside of him he didn’t even know existed. No one ever told him about this kind of pleasure.

“Fuck,” Stiles panted out, “fuckfuckfuck.” Derek crawled up between his legs and wrapped his lips around his cock, and Stiles came so hard he screamed and his mind went completely blank. 

When his mind started to refocus, Derek was stretched out beside him, kissing his face and neck, nails scratching along his stomach. Stiles felt wrecked. His entire body was drained, and his legs and ass were sore. But Derek was comforting, and he just wanted to curl into his arms.

After a few moments of dozing, Stiles noticed that Derek was rutting against him lazily as he sucked marks along Stiles’ shoulder. “I’m sorry,” Stiles croaked out. 

Derek removed his mouth long enough to ask, “For what?” Stiles flopped his hand around, finally landing on Derek’s erection. “I’m not worried about that.” He licked a stripe up the side of Stiles’ neck before nuzzling there. “Seeing you come undone like that was the best pleasure in the world.”

Stiles smiled, and reached out blindly for Derek’s head. He happily stroked Derek’s hair for a few minutes. “I should do that to you,” Stiles mumbled sleepily. “So you can feel what I just did.” He felt the brief pause in Derek’s mouth, and he opened his eyes. “What?”

“I’ve never…” Stiles waited while conflicting emotions crossed Derek’s face. “No one’s ever done that to me. I’ve never been fucked by anyone.”

“Oh,” Stiles said, embarrassed. “I didn’t know that there were…that some men prefer…it’s just post-orgasmic ramblings.” He closed his eyes again.

“Hey,” Derek cupped his cheek. “Look at me.” Stiles opened his eyes to find Derek leaning over him. “I’ve never let anyone do that to me, but…I’m not saying I wouldn’t let you. Some day.”

Stiles looked at Derek in surprise. “Really? You’d let me…” He reached around Derek’s body and dragged his finger across his hole. Derek’s eyes drifted shut.

“I’m beginning to think I’d let you do anything to me you wanted,” Derek said. He kissed Stiles then, and after a few moments, he raised up on his knees and started stroking his cock. Stiles watched in awe as Derek’s large hand pulled along the shaft in fast, confident strokes. He loved the way Derek knew exactly how to touch himself, the way the foreskin pulled back from the head just to cover it again. 

Derek’s cheeks were tinged pink, his lips parted as he panted. Stiles could tell he was getting close with the way his fist stuttered and his eyes started fluttering shut. Finally, with one last tug, Derek came with a quiet moan, splattering Stiles’ chest and torso with come. Stiles wondered what was wrong with him that he thought this was insanely hot.

As Derek spread the come across his skin and then licked it off, Stiles started to happily drift to sleep again.

*

“He did not!” Allison laughed into Scott’s shoulder. Stiles grunted because of course, Scott decided to tell the girls _incredibly embarrassing stories about him_. Lydia patted his arm lightly with her gloved hand.

They were walking down the street in Manhattan. Derek had closed the Sour Wolf that night because the upcoming meeting with Gerard was more important than the money they’d make being open. Besides, they were pretty sure it would still be a few days, if not weeks, before the Sour Wolf was back to its usual vibrancy.

Since Derek called a Super Secret Werewolf Meeting (Stiles’ name, not Derek’s; Derek had called him an idiot and then kissed him) and told the humans to go “stay out of trouble” (Derek’s words, not Stiles’), Allison suggested that they go to dinner. Lydia insisted on Manhattan, and she insisted on paying. 

It was 1924, Stiles was modern enough to be okay with that.

Currently, they were walking down the street, deciding if they wanted to see a show or a movie. And they were, of course, humiliating Stiles.

“You know, why don’t we tell the girls some of _your_ embarrassing stories,” Stiles said.

“I can’t believe you two have known each other that long,” Allison said. She patted Scott’s arm. “I don’t even remember anyone from when I was five.”

“Well, it was hard to ignore the weird Polish kid with the missing front teeth who kept getting his ass kicked in your neighborhood,” Scott said with a smile.

“Oh please,” Stiles groaned. “Those Russian kids had been terrorizing you for weeks. I was the one who stepped in to save you. Then you followed me home like a puppy.”

“He’s a liar,” Scott whispered into Allison’s ear.

Stiles turned to Lydia, who was clutching his arm and looking at the surrounding buildings boredly. “You believe me, right?”

Stiles never got to hear her answer. 

*

Derek growled. His Betas were some of the _most_ infuriating people in the world. Stubborn. They were all stubborn. And currently ganging up on him in his own living room.

“You can’t go alone,” Isaac said from the sofa. “It’s suicide if you and Peter go in alone.”

“I don’t want any of you in danger,” Derek said. “This is not your fight.”

“It became our fight the moment they took Erica,” Boyd growled.

“And Stiles,” Isaac said.

“And you,” Cora added. “Whether you like it or not, we are part of this fight.”

“I will not,” Derek started, but hastily got up from his stool and started pacing. “I will not have any of you die because of me.”

“So that’s it, then?” Cora yelled. “You plan to get yourself killed. Great. So, I lose my brother and my uncle, the only two remaining family members I have. You’re a selfish prick, Derek.”

Derek turned on her, eyes red and growling. She snarled back, eyes flashing gold.

“This is not helping!” Isaac yelled as he stepped between them. 

“What about Stiles?” Cora asked. “Are you just going to die on him, too?”

“I’m not planning on dying, goddammit!” Derek yelled. “But I’m also not going to sacrifice one of you so I can live!”

“Derek, providing back up for you is not going to – “ Boyd stopped talking, and they all looked at the front door. Chris burst through without knocking, clutching something in his hand. He looked drunk, but when Derek inhaled, he realized his eyes weren’t bloodshot. Those were tears.

“What happened?” Derek asked, his hackles rising. Dread pooled in his stomach as he braced himself for whatever Chris was about to say.

“That motherfucker took my daughter,” Chris said, his voice eerily calm. Derek noticed that what Chris was clutching was a single glove and a lock of hair. He closed his eyes and inhaled; Allison.

“But Allison was with Scott,” Isaac said, his panic rising. 

Derek threw his head back and roared, shifting on the spot. Everything drained from him until he was focused on nothing but the white hot rage coursing through him. They had Stiles. Hunters - _Gerard_ \- took Stiles again. This time, he would rip apart every single man in Gerard’s network until he was drenched in their blood for touching Stiles.

Derek made for the door, but something was holding him back. He turned and bit at whoever was holding him, not seeing or hearing anything. He struggled, lashing out fiercely, until he finally heard a shot and felt pain searing through his arm. He blinked, regaining some of his senses.

“Derek!” Cora shouted.

Derek blinked. He was being held by Cora, who had bloody scratches on his arms already healing. Chris was holding a gun, which explained the bullet he was digging out of his arm, and Boyd had Isaac, who was still fighting him.

“You’re upsetting Isaac!”

“Isaac!” Derek yelled it like a command, and Isaac immediately went slack. Derek turned back to Cora, who was wolfed out and gripping his arms. Derek opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a loud howl. Cora nuzzled his neck, whimpering with him.

“We’ll find him,” she whispered. “He’ll be fine.”

“Derek, they’ve got Allison,” Chris said, drawing their attention back to the others. “Scott, Lydia, and Stiles.”

“The human members,” Boyd stated.

“Fuck!” Derek growled.

“That’s low, even for hunters,” Isaac said, sounding pitiful. 

Chris crossed the room and handed Derek a note. “They left this with the items on my doorstep.”

_Insurance for our meeting tomorrow._

Derek crumpled the note in his clawed fist. “There won’t be a meeting tomorrow,” Derek said.

“What?” Chris asked.

“We end this tonight.”

“What do we need to do?” Isaac asked.

Derek led them into his study and opened a safe hidden behind a bookcase. 

“How much fucking cash do you have in there?” Chris asked.

“I’m more concerned about the guns,” Boyd said.

“Someone’s gotta be prepared,” Cora said. “That’s why he’s the Alpha.” Derek didn’t know why, but Cora’s blind faith in his was more reassuring than anything.

Derek pulled out a map and tossed it on the desk, along with a folder. “That’s everything I have on Gerard Argent and his hunters,” Derek explained. “According to the men Peter and I questioned – “

“Questioned?” Cora asked. “When did you and Peter question anyone?”

“He means tortured, doll,” Chris said. Cora looked horrified.

Derek glared at him, but continued. “Gerard is operating somewhere in the meat packing district.” He spread the map across the table. The map was littered with red and black Xs. “According to the information we gathered, these are the most likely places he will be in.”

“Then let’s go right now,” Isaac growled, eyes gold and claws digging into his palms.

“We don’t know this is where they are,” Derek said, trying to remain calm and rational. Isaac’s rage matched his own and it was hard to control the shared impulse to go hunting, but storming in would only get them killed.

“The meeting tomorrow is supposed to be in SoHo,” Boyd said. “That’s not far from the meatpacking district. Makes sense they wouldn’t keep them in the same place, but keep them nearby.”

“Where would you keep them?” Cora asked Chris.

Chris sighed and ran a hand over his face. “An abandoned building of some sort. There’s four of them, which means they could make a loud raucous if they wanted. No doubt they knocked them out to take them, and my father knows Allison is a trained hunter, so he’d want her somewhere she couldn’t escape. And by now, he has to have realized what a pain in the ass Stilinski is.”

Derek smiled wryly to himself.

Chris looked over the map and started crossing out buildings. After a few moments, he had it narrowed down to a few. “These are the most likely suspects, or any of the buildings in the surrounding areas.” Chris dug a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and stuck one between his lips before lighting it. He took a long drag before speaking again. “We can’t expect any help from Allison and the others because more than likely they’ll be injured in some way. Surprise is our best weapon.”

Derek started going over a plan in his head. After a bit more planning, Derek sent the Betas and Chris to Manhattan to start searching the areas. He had a few more things to do before they attacked.

*

Derek opened the door and looked around the grungy diner in the Bronx. He saw Finstock and Greenberg sitting in the corner booth.

“This is all the information I have on him,” Finstock said when Derek sat down. Greenberg slid a stack of files across the table. “It’s every case he’s worked on, every piece of information I’ve collected about his habits.”

“This is a list of his known associates,” Greenberg added, opening another file and handing it to Derek. Derek glanced along the list, recognizing some of the names. Quite a few of them were Peter’s rivals.

“I’ve had my men trailing him,” Finstock said. “He’s been spotted hanging around the meat packing district for the past four or five days.” Derek nodded; good, his information seemed to be correct.

“Peter will get you your money,” Derek said as he looked through the file. “This is great.” 

“I did it for more than the money, though that sonofabitch better pay up,” Finstock said. “No fucking geezer is gonna come into my city, interfere in my operation, and use it for his own nefarious means. Ain’t nobody gonna kidnap kids, for fuck’s sake.”

“He’s not even a Prohibition agent,” Greenberg said as he handed Derek another file. “The office in Detroit has never heard of him, and so we’re positive he bought someone off in the agency to approve his transfer.”

Derek stared at the information, mind calculating. “I owe you,” Derek said. “If we win this and don’t end up in prison, I owe you huge.”

“Case of the best scotch,” Finstock said. “Or Caribbean rum. Or both. For the rest of my life.”

“If I get my people back, you can have whatever the fuck you want.”

*

Derek knew he had to calm down. His instinct was pulling him, his wolf clawing to get out and find Stiles, find the human members of his Pack. 

These hunters were the lowest kind of scum. Kidnapping humans was not part of the Code. Even Peter had been furious when Derek had told him, and Peter couldn’t care less about anyone but himself. While Peter made his own arrangements for the impending fight, Derek had one more stop to make before rendezvousing with the Pack.

Which is how he found himself walking into the sheriff’s station. He strode past deputies at their desk and ignored anyone who spoke to him. Sheriff Stilinski was in the back corner office, bent over paperwork at his desk.

He looked up when Derek closed the door behind him, shocked to see Derek standing there. “What do you want?” he asked harshly, but then his face morphed and he asked, “What’s happened to Stiles?”

Derek took the seat in front of the desk and removed his hat. “He’s been kidnapped, sir.”

“What?” the sheriff yelled. “What have you done to my son?”

The words cut Derek deeply because he _knew_ that it was his fault Stiles was in the situation he was in now. But he couldn’t dwell on that.

“Do you know Agent Argent?” Derek asked, dropping the files Finstock gave him on the sheriff’s desk. “He’s the Prohibition agent who ordered the raid on my club.”

“I’ve heard of him,” the sheriff asked, curiosity obviously piqued. “But what does this have to do with Stiles?”

“He’s kidnapped him,” Derek explained, “Along with Scott and two girls.”

“What? Why? What have you involved him in?”

Derek sighed. “It’s a…blood feud, I guess you could say. He targeted them because they were the most vulnerable. And because…” Derek trailed off, and the sheriff looked at him expectantly. “Because he knows what Stiles means to me.”

“So, my son’s been kidnapped to hurt you?” Derek nodded. “Son of a bitch!” Sheriff Stilinski slammed his hand against the desk. “What do you need from me?”

“Gerard Argent isn’t what he claims to be,” Derek said, pushing the files across the desk. “He’s already kidnapped Stiles once, almost killed us once, and I’m pretty sure he killed my mother.”

The sheriff stared at him in disbelief. “Just what in the hell have you done to my son?”

“I’ve just tried to keep him safe.”

“Well, then you’ve done a really shitty job.” The sheriff yanked the folders closer and started flipping through them.

“I know,” Derek muttered to himself.

*

“My head hurts,” Stiles said.

“You’ve said that fifteen times,” Lydia said.

“In the last half hour,” Scott added.

“But it does.” Stiles touched the back of his head gingerly, where a nice knot had formed. At least he was doing better than Allison. The hunters had, of course, knocked Stiles and Scott out first, underestimating the girls. They didn’t know that Allison was also a trained hunter and skilled fighter, and she had taken down two men before someone knocked her out. Or at least that’s what Lydia said. Stiles had been unconscious at the time.

Now, Allison had a nasty wound on her head, which had finally stopped bleeding. They thought. It was hard to tell since there was so much blood there in the first place. Allison had her head in Lydia’s lap, and she was methodically combing her fingers through Allison’s hair.

As far as Stiles could tell, he had woken up in another warehouse. Yet again. It was becoming a habit he really hoped he broke soon. Couldn’t they ever just take him to a nice hotel? Or throw in a pillow and blanket?

“Isaac is probably going nuts,” Scott said from where he was leaning against a wall. Stiles had opted to just sprawl on the cold floor. The room had nothing inside it except some old, busted crates. A window was high up on the wall out of reach.

“Derek’s probably about to burn down New York City,” Lydia said. 

“My father will be the one with the gasoline,” Allison murmured from her lap.

Another hour passed before a door in the far end opened and three men walked inside. One was old, with white hair, and the other two were younger. The one on the right had a deep scar across his face.

“Gonna let us out, huh?” Stiles asked, sitting up. “Because, I’ll be honest. The hospitality of this establishment is lacking.”

The old man nodded at Scarface, who yanked Stiles up by his collar and punched him in the gut. When he dropped Stiles back to the ground, Stiles rolled over, retching. 

The old man bent down and reached out to smooth the hair from Allison’s face. “I’m sorry they did this to you, my dear. You were to remain unharmed. I’ll have their heads for hurting you.”

“Why do you care?” Lydia spat. Even from his position curled on the floor, Stiles could feel the rage pouring from her.

“He’s my grandfather,” Allison said weakly. 

Of course, Stiles thought. Gerard. 

“You monster!” Lydia yelled, lunging for him. She got a few good scratches into Gerard’s face before he pushed her off and onto the ground. Allison grunted in pain when her head dropped to the concrete, and Lydia immediately grabbed her and started murmuring in her ear.

When Scarface lunged towards Lydia, Gerard held a hand out to stop him. “The young lady doesn’t know what she’s doing. She’s hysterical. Women are so emotional and unpredictable. Don’t you think, Stiles?” Gerard turned his cold eyes towards him, and Stiles glared. “Or is there another reason you prefer the company of men to women? Though, what is an abomination like that when you choose to mate with a monster in the first place?” Gerard stood up, and Stiles tried to gather strength to stand, but his stomach was still aching. “You do realize they aren’t human. That you are essentially letting a demon enter you.”

“They’re not monsters!” Scott yelled. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Gerard laughed, cold and bitterly. “Don’t talk to me about werewolves, child,” he said. “I’ve been hunting down mutts since before your mother was in diapers.” He looked down at Allison, whose head was cradled in Lydia’s arms. He shook his head. “It’s a pity, really, that your father defected. He was a good hunter, but you, Allison. You would make a phenomenal hunter.” 

“What kind of monster does it make you that you kidnap your own granddaughter?” Stiles asked. Scarface kicked him.

“Your father’s weakness is my cross to bear,” Gerard continued, ignoring Stiles. “My failure as a father. I am willing to rectify it with you, Allison, if you want.”

“Go to hell,” Lydia spat. “She’d rather die than join a monster like you.”

Gerard looked at her, his head cocked to the side. “You are a fiery one. And ferocious when it comes to my granddaughter.” Gerard turned his head to the third man, and pointed to Lydia.

“No!” Lydia screamed when the man grabbed her and pulled her away from Allison. “Let me go!” She thrashed and twisted her body, trying to escape or land a blow on the man, but she was too short and he was too strong for her to do anything. Scott jumped up and headed towards her, but Scarface knocked him down and Gerard pulled a gun, pointing it directly at Scott’s head. 

“Allison will not be touched, but you three are disposable.” Gerard pulled the hammer back, and Stiles felt like he was going to throw up again. 

But a noise outside distracted everyone, and Stiles quickly crawled over to Scott and put himself between the gun and Scott. 

“Why are you doing this?” Allison asked. She had managed to pushed herself up, and was looking at Gerard. “Why have you hurt anyone? Stiles, Erica, Derek, now us? We haven’t done anything wrong.”

“You haven’t, my dear,” Gerard said. “You can blame your worthless Alpha for this one. It doesn’t surprise me that you didn’t know that he killed my daughter, _your_ aunt, Allison. And Kate is just one of his many kills. He’s a monster.”

“He’s not a fucking monster!” Stiles screamed. 

Gerard sneered down at Stiles. “You make me so sick. He’s twisted you and that other boy so much that I almost feel sorry for you. Even my own granddaughter has been corrupted so much that she’s lying with another woman. Detestable. I’ll be doing you all a favor by killing you.” Gerard raised the gun, and Stiles tried to cover Scott while Scott tried to push Stiles out of the way. 

Seconds later, the door burst open. Derek’s roar filled the entire room as Boyd and Isaac rushed in, fully wolfed out, followed by Cora and Chris. The man holding Lydia threw her harshly to the ground, and Stiles crawled towards her while Scott made his way to Allison. The others fought behind him, and Stiles heard growls and gunshots and howls of pain, and he didn’t know what was happening. 

“Lyds, you okay?” Stiles asked when he got to her. The way she had landed caused her arm to be twisted at an awkward angle beneath her. There were tears in the corners of her eyes, but she was glaring at the fight.

“Help me up,” Lydia said. “I need to go claw his eyes out.”

“No, you need to stay right here,” Stiles said as she moved and winced in pain. “Your arm is broken.”

“I still have one good one.”

Scott was crouched over Allison in the corner, and numerous dead bodies littered the warehouse floor. The Pack was covered in blood and their clothes torn, but they were still fighting. Chris put a bullet between the eyes of a guy who just ran in, and Derek and Peter were standing over Gerard. 

“I’m going to enjoy this,” Peter grinned, his facial features morphing slowly. His clothes were completely clean, like he’d stayed out of the fight until now. Stiles didn’t doubt that he had. His eyes were bright blue and filled with hatred as he stared down at Gerard. “For killing my sister and my niece.”

“You killed my daughter,” Gerard said. “Your entire Pack deserves to burn.”

“Kate was a psycho bitch.” Derek growled, but Peter put a hand on his shoulder. 

“If you kill me, you will just confirm what I’ve known all along,” Gerard said, “that you’re a monster. Other hunters will come, and avenge me. You will not – “

A loud shot echoed through the warehouse, and everyone turned to stare at Chris, gun still pointed at Gerard’s head. 

“Really, Chris?” Peter exclaimed.

Stiles turned back to Gerard, who was staring in his direction and gasping for air. Blood oozed from the wound in his cheek, just beneath his eye.

Then, Gerard started laughing. Peter, Derek, and Chris all looked at each other in confusion. They crept closer as Gerard tried to speak. “I…I,” he got out, the blood gurgling in the back of his throat. “We didn’t kill Laura Hale.” Then he started laughing. “We didn’t touch her.”

“What?” Derek said, the hard mask slipping as he looked at Gerard in lost confusion. “Then who killed her?”

Gerard coughed, but before he could reply, Peter lunged on him. Stiles covered Lydia as he diverted his eyes. He tried to block out the sound of ripping flesh and the strangled screams of the dying man. 

When he finally turned back around, Peter was human again and wiping the blood away from his mouth with a handkerchief, Gerard lying at his feet in pieces.

“What in the hell did you do that for?” Derek shouted, flinging his hand in Gerard’s direction. “He was about to tell us who Laura’s killer was!”

“Oh, Derek,” Peter said with a condescending smile. “Don’t be ridiculous. Gerard was lying.”

“He didn’t deny killing Mom. If Laura’s killer wasn’t – “

But Derek didn’t get a chance to finish, because at that moment, Sheriff Stilinski burst through the door, followed by Finstock and a whole slew of agents and officers.

“Stiles!” the sheriff exclaimed, running over to where Stiles was huddled on the floor with Lydia. He pulled Stiles into a tight embrace. “You’re alive.”

“I’m fine, Dad,” Stiles said, hugging his dad tightly. “How did you know?”

“Derek,” the sheriff said, pulling back. “Derek came to me.”

“Derek came – what?” Stiles swung his eyes over to Derek, who was being put into handcuffs along with Isaac, Boyd, Cora, and Chris. “Dad! They’re arresting Derek! Do something!”

His father hesitated for a moment, and then stood up and walked over to the officers. “Fellas, hold up. These guys are to be questioned, not arrested. They were…” He turned to Derek and said, “They were rescuing my son.”

“And my daughter!” Chris exclaimed as he struggled against his handcuffs. “My daughter is bleeding on the floor over there! How about you help her instead of arresting me?! Do something useful!”

The next half hour flew by in a flurry of questions, and statements, and medical personnel collecting Allison and Lydia, and then checking over Scott and Stiles. Even though Derek was out of handcuffs, he and Peter had been talking to the feds the entire time. He could see how tense Derek was, and the nervous glances he kept shooting Stiles’ way. He tried to send comforting vibes his way, but since he wasn’t sure how that worked, he didn’t know if it was helping.

Eventually, the sheriff took Stiles and Scott with him, the Pack still dealing with the aftermath. Derek watched him helplessly as he walked to the door, and Stiles gave him what he hoped was a reassuring grin.

In the squad car, the sheriff asked, “Are you boys all right?”

“They’re not going to arrest Isaac and the others, are they?” Scott asked. “They saved us. Those guys were bad news, Sheriff. They knocked us over the head while we were on the street, and poor Allison, and Lydia’s arm, and – “

“I know, Scott,” the sheriff said gently. “You’ve already told me all this in your statement.”

“But maybe I need to tell you again!”

“There are a lot of dead bodies…in multiple pieces,” the sheriff said. “I think Derek’s buddy, Finstock, is gonna help. Plus, the knowledge that Gerard Argent was posing as a federal agent helps their case.” The sheriff glanced over at Stiles when they got to a red light. “You okay, kiddo?”

Stiles pulled himself from his thoughts and looked over at the sheriff. “Peachy. I’ve been kidnapped and almost killed three times in the last few months.”

“You can come home,” the sheriff said. “You don’t have to go back to all that.” 

Stiles ran a hand over his face. “I’m exhausted, Dad. I don’t want to talk about this now.”

The sheriff sighed in resignation. “Where does Derek live? I’ll drop you off.”

*

It was almost dawn when the Feds got finished with them. Between the evidence against Gerard and the influence from Finstock, the Pack was let go. It didn’t hurt that Sheriff Stilinski’s son had been taken, and the sheriff was one of the most respected men in the NYPD.

Derek was exhausted. Chris drove them all back to Brooklyn, and Derek had crammed into the backseat with Isaac and Cora nuzzling against him. He studied Isaac closely as they drove across the river, noticing for the first time how much he’d grown from that scared, timid boy he’d found on the streets. The pain and anxiety coming from him matched Derek’s; he knew the only thing Isaac needed now was to see Scott.

Cora had gone home with Boyd, and when Derek entered the apartment, he was glad that he could be alone with Stiles. His scent was heavy in the air when Derek opened the door, and Derek felt an overwhelming relief when he found Stiles sprawled in the middle of his bed, asleep.

As quietly as possible, Derek took a bath. When he was toweling his hair, Stiles woke up. “Hey.” He started to get up, but Derek went over to the bed and pulled him into his arms. He didn’t say anything, just pressed his face into Stiles’ hair and inhaled.

“I’m fine, Derek,” Stiles chuckled. “I’m not the one with a broken arm or a concussion. I just have a few bruises.”

“It’s over,” Derek said when he pulled away. “Gerard is dead. It’s over.”

“Maybe kidnapping us was a good thing,” he said. “Gave you the upper hand.”

“How can you say that?” Derek asked.

Stiles smiled sleepily. “I think they underestimated the rage of two werewolves and a hunter who’d had the people they loved the most taken from them.” Stiles nudged Derek lightly. “And this wasn’t the first time they’d taken me, and they’d already tortured Chris’ girlfriend. They got cocky, we got lucky.”

“Your dad helped,” Derek said. “I’d probably be in jail if it wasn’t for him.”

“Saving his son outweighs putting him in danger in the first place,” Stiles said. “His words, not mine.” Stiles wrapped an arm around Derek and lifted up the covers. “Come on, let’s sleep. I’m exhausted.”

Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles, nuzzling his face into Stiles’ neck. It was over, and they were safe.

*

“Derek?” 

Derek smiled when he heard Stiles step into the apartment. He pulled two plates out of the cabinet as Stiles walked into the kitchen.

“It smells delicious. I didn’t expect you to cook for me.”

“Well, you move into the dorms tomorrow,” Derek said as he spooned vegetables on the plates. “I thought your last night before you officially become an Ivy League man should be special.”

“You act like I’m moving away,” Stiles said as he slid his arms around Derek’s waist and kissed the back of his neck. “I’ll just be in Manhattan. Lydia will be at Barnard; we’ll basically be going to school together.”

“Maybe when handsome, rich, well-educated men are sweeping you off your feet, you’ll remember that I can cook.” Derek chuckled, but there was too much truth behind his words. He knew that Stiles going to Columbia was a life-changing experience. He’d meet so many worthy men, and Derek didn’t doubt that Stiles could find someone in no time if he wanted. Men with more money and class than Derek could ever have, and who were nowhere near as dangerous.

“That would never happen,” Stiles said, tightening his arms around Derek. “I could never like some pampered, rich boy after you.”

They talked about nothing in particular while they ate, and Derek just enjoyed listening to the sound of Stiles’ voice. “I don’t think Allison is going to miss me that much,” Stiles said. “She probably hated being my roommate.”

“Allison loved having you live with her,” Derek said. “I heard her telling Cora the other night how much she was going to miss eating sweets with you while you two listened to the wireless.”

“I saw my dad today,” Stiles said as he pushed food around his plate. “We’re still not on the best of terms, but at least we’re speaking on a semi-regular basis now. He’s ecstatic about me starting school Monday. He’s already bought a pennant and taped it to the refrigerator.” Stiles rolled his eyes, but Derek could feel the happiness underneath it. He was glad; Stiles and his dad had had a rather tenuous relationship the last few months. 

“That’s good,” Derek said, nudging Stiles’ foot under the table. “He’s coming around.” Stiles just grunted. 

“He’s still not happy about me taking the money from you,” Stiles said, “even though I tried to explain that I also got it from Lydia, and my own savings. He thinks I’m paying for college with dirty money.”

“He wouldn’t be wrong.” Derek took a bite and swallowed as Stiles glared at him. “All save Lydia’s money came from liquor sells.” Derek shrugged. “I don’t see the problem. It pays all the rest of your bills.”

“I didn’t want to take money from anyone, especially you,” Stiles said. He finished off his plate, then pushed it away. “You’ve got enough debt with Peter, and still have to pay Cora’s tuition.”

“None of your nor Cora’s college money came from Peter, I swear it.” Derek had gotten the money from the few distilleries he opened in the past two months, and from the increased profits from the Sour Wolf. He thankfully hadn’t had to borrow anything else from Peter.

After they washed the dishes, they slowly undressed each other while kissing and touching lazily. It was familiar and unhurried, and Derek was enjoying every moment before Stiles went to college. He wasn’t sure when he’d see him again. Derek had gotten so used to Stiles spending most nights in his bed that even a week was too long.

“Make love to me,” Stiles whispered against Derek’s mouth. Derek pulled back, wide eyed with surprise. “I’m ready, and I want to go to college wearing your mark in every way possible.”

Derek growled low in his chest as he crawled on top of Stiles’ body. He rolled his hips a few times, their growing erections rubbing together. “You will never understand the things you do to me,” Derek whispered against Stiles’ mouth. 

Stiles rolled onto his stomach as Derek grabbed the jar of lubricant from the nightstand. Stiles looked so beautiful on his hands and knees, ready and eager for Derek to fuck him. Derek couldn’t believe it was happening; he would have waited forever if that’s how long it took Stiles to get ready. He was content to fuck the squeeze between his thighs and suck him down with three fingers buried deep inside Stiles – anything to feel Stiles against him. 

But now that Stiles was finally ready to have sex…Derek had to breathe so he wouldn’t lose control.

“You okay?” Stiles asked, craning his head over his shoulder. He looked nervous and unsure, and Derek smiled and ran his hands over the globes of Stiles’ ass before leaning down to pepper kisses across the pale flesh. 

“Absolutely okay.” Derek pulled Stiles’ cheeks apart with his thumbs and started licking and kissing his hole. They’d done this so often over the last few months, Stiles loving the way Derek’s tongue felt inside him, and Derek couldn’t think of anything better than tasting Stiles in such a raw and intimate way. Stiles had even started to press exploratory kisses and fingers around Derek’s hole, and Derek was slowly coming around to the idea. He wanted to know what it felt like to have Stiles fuck him with his fingers, his tongue.

Stiles was still loose from the night before, but Derek still slowly and meticulously worked him up to three fingers, and then added his pinky just to be sure. When Stiles was gripping the bed sheets in his hands and fucking back wantonly on Derek’s fingers, he removed them and slicked up his cock. 

“I can’t wait to feel you inside me,” Stiles said, his breathing labored. He oozed pure arousal, no hesitation, anxiety, or pain. 

“I can’t wait to be inside you,” Derek said, draping himself over Stiles’ back. He ran his hands up and down Stiles’ sides as he dropped kisses along his shoulders. “Are you ready?” Derek asked, nuzzling and kissing behind Stiles’ ear. “We’ve waited this long, we can continue to wait if you’re not sure.”

Stiles turned his head and looked at Derek. “I’m sure.” He nodded, reaching up to thread his fingers into Derek’s hair. “I’m one hundred percent sure.”

Derek kissed his mouth gently as he lined his cock up and pushed inside. Stiles gasped into Derek’s mouth, and Derek kept kissing him and rubbing his skin as he slowly bottomed out. When he was all the way inside, he paused, his claws pushing at his nails as he struggled to control himself. He wanted to give in, to pound into Stiles, to claim and take, but he controlled his instincts and breathed. 

“You okay?” Stiles asked with a shaky chuckle. 

Derek opened his eyes and smiled before kissing Stiles again. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?”

“Looks like you need it more than me.” Stiles covered his hand with his own. “And you’ve done this before; I’m the virgin here.”

“It’s never felt like this before,” Derek said, as he pulled out slowly and thrust back in. Stiles extended his neck and moaned softly.

“Like what?”

“Heaven.”

Derek set up a smooth rhythm, one arm wrapped around Stiles’ waist as they kissed sloppily over Stiles’ shoulder. He didn’t have a large range of motion, but that required moving away from Stiles, which he was unwilling to do. He had never felt so close to someone else, like he didn’t know where he ended and Stiles began.

Stiles hung his head down, and Derek rested his forehead between his shoulder blades, breathing in the scent of _them_ as he kissed and licked Stiles’ damp skin. He gripped Stiles’ hips tightly as he started thrusting faster, but always careful not to hurt Stiles.

“Yes,” Stiles moaned, “Derek, faster, yes.” Derek reached out and grabbed the headboard, using it for leverage so he could thrust at a slightly different angle. Stiles cried out, bracing himself on the bed with trembling arms. Derek reached his other hand around Stiles’ body and circled his fingers loosely around his cock.

They stayed like this for awhile, locked in a haze of each other. The quiet of the room was punctuated only with the pounding of the headboard against the wall and the slap of skin against skin. Occasionally, a ship horn sounded down on the river, drifting in from the open windows.

Derek felt Stiles starting to tense around him, a delicious squeeze around his cock every time he rocked his hips. He tightened his fist around Stiles’ cock, pumping it faster as he sucked a mark into his shoulder. Stiles came a few minutes later, moaning softly as he pulsed around Derek’s cock. The smell of Stiles’ orgasm, the feel of him coming with Derek buried deep inside him sent Derek over the edge, and he bit into the tender meat of Stiles’ neck as he came inside Stiles.

Derek slowly rocked his hips as he came down, the aftershocks coursing through his body. He gently rolled Stiles to the side without pulling out, unable to break that connection quite yet. He felt overwhelmed and completely open in a way he never had before, and he just clutched Stiles, licking over the marks he left on his neck.

“I don’t know what to say,” Stiles said breathlessly. “That has to be a first. You rendered me speechless.” Derek smiled against Stiles’ skin, wallowing in the complete sense of _utter contentment_ emanating from Stiles. “Was it worth the wait?” Stiles asked after a few quiet minutes.

Derek rocked his hips, little sparks of pleasure coursing through him. When Stiles’ breath hitched, he did it again. “It was worth the wait.” Derek kissed behind Stiles’ ear and nuzzled his neck. “You’re worth everything.”

Finally, Derek slipped his now soft cock from Stiles, who grunted in disappointment. He rolled Stiles onto his stomach, kissed his way down Stiles’ back, and then spread his cheeks to lick the come leaking from his loose hole. Stiles made filthy noises as he squirmed under Derek’s tongue, and Derek almost came again from the taste of his come inside Stiles. Derek kept licking until he’d cleaned every drop he could from him.

“Fuck,” Stiles said as Derek crawled beside him and dropped heavily onto the bed. “How am I ever going to be able to look…anyone…in the face again?” Stiles’ cheeks were tinged in embarrassment. Derek kissed them, and Stiles smiled.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” Derek said, making a show of licking his lips. “I just couldn’t help myself. I love the way you taste.” Derek didn’t know how it was possible for Stiles to get any more embarrassed, but he blushed an even deeper shade of red.

Stiles rolled onto his side, scooting close against Derek’s body. Derek just stared into Stiles’ eyes and ran his hands over Stiles’ skin. “It’s hard to imagine a time I didn’t know you,” Stiles said. “A time when this wasn’t my life.”

“It’s only been a few months.”

“Feels like I’ve known you a lot longer.”

“I know what you mean.” Derek kissed him again, slowly. He knew exactly what Stiles meant.

*

Stiles was out on the dance floor, his partner a shy, homely girl who was starting to open up under Stiles’ attention. Lydia was dancing a lively, perfect Charleston with a regular while Scott tried to dance with his partner but kept stepping on her toes. Cora was singing an upbeat jazz tune with Isaac and Danny playing behind her. Boyd sat on a stool with his arms crossed, watching the place.

“Good to have him back, isn’t it?” Erica asked. She had a black top hat perched on her head, a perfectly tailored tuxedo showing off all her curves. She even had all the buttons closed tonight, with a little bowtie around her neck.

“He’s only been gone two weeks.” Derek tried not to seem too happy, but he’d gone _two full weeks_ without seeing Stiles. It was torture.

“Two weeks of you moping,” Allison said, the feather of her headpiece brushing Derek’s chin as she walked by with a bottle of whiskey. “I’m not a wolf and it was driving me bananas.”

“You’ve been just as bad missing Lydia,” Erica said with a smile. Allison returned the smile tentatively.

“Derek Hale?” A man in a dark suit and bowler hat said as he approached the bar. Derek lifted his eyebrows, and the man motioned for him to follow. Derek slid into the booth nestled in the farthest corner, away from almost everything. The man pushed an envelope across the table. When Derek had it in his hands and started to open it, the man got up and left. Derek watched after him in confusion.

Inside the envelope was a picture, a location, and a time. Dread spread through Derek like ice as he stared at the contents, unable to look away. Finally, he unfolded the note nestled inside the envelope.

_I do hope you haven’t forgotten our arrangement. Your debt is far from paid._

Derek was still staring at the piece of paper a few minutes later when Stiles slid into the booth beside him. “What’s wrong?”

Derek didn’t try to hide the contents of the envelope when Stiles leaned over and read the note, and then picked up the photo. 

“Fuck him,” Stiles spat. Derek looked at him, and Stiles was seething. “Fuck that fucking asshole. You are not his…hitman.” Stiles shook his head and tossed the paper back on the table.

Carefully, Derek folded the papers and put them back into the envelope before placing the envelope in his jacket. “He’s not wrong, you know. I still owe him.”

Stiles shook his head. “It’s bullshit. We’re going to find a way out of it.” 

Derek raised his eyebrows. “We?”

“Yes, _we_. You’re better than Peter Hale’s slave. We’re going to find a way to settle your debt once and for all. You’ve paid enough.”

“Stiles, you don’t get out of debt with men like Peter.”

“I’ll find a way,” Stiles said. “If it’s the last thing I do, I will find a way to get rid of Peter for you.” As Derek looked at Stiles, he had no doubt that Stiles believed every single word he said. He sighed and ran a hand over his face.

“Not tonight,” Derek said. “Come on, I haven’t seen you in two weeks. Let’s go dance.”

Stiles stood up and held his hand out for Derek. “Only if the dance is in your apartment,” Stiles said with a smile. “Because once I get you in my arms, I’m not going to let you go.”

Derek took Stiles’ hand and nodded. He knew he wasn’t going to want to let go, either.

-fin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! And thanks for all the comments, kudos, and messages about how much you enjoy the fic :D This is one of my favorite projects I've written, so it makes me happy when others like it as much as I do :D
> 
> Most of my research came from lots of F Scott Fitzgerald and John Dos Passos novels, modern literary theory and early 20th century gay history, lots and lots of reading about Prohibition and speakeasies, and of course, copious amounts of Boardwalk Empire :D

**Author's Note:**

> \----> [tumblr, if you want to say hi](http://thepsychicclam.tumblr.com) :D


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